Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
She knows one day *** will be a memory, A nightly séance with Her dead self. Hardwick Will still be just one of Her many lovers, ******* His pants in some old folks Home, dribbling over his Shirt, forgetting her as he Turns to go numbly to sleep. She inhales her cigarette, Watches the smoke rise, Sees in the corner of her Room, a spider hanging. Hardwick is due at seven. He will bring white wine, Foreign food, the hot **** Movie they both want to See, then to bed, *** sleep. She exhales the smoke, holds The cigarette to one side, her Naked body sensing warm The sheets. Suzie he’ll say, Putting the wine and food in The fridge, placing the movie On, can we try that position on Page 35? Last time it was page 32, the position not much fun, Too much work, quite hard to do. Mother’d turn in her grave to See her thus. Naked at four in The afternoon, smoking French Cigarettes, thinking of hot *** Wanting old age to stay away. She sits up, stubs out the cigarette. Mother died of cancer, too soon, Too much, no answer. Hardwick Will bring and expect the same: The wine, the food, the *** after The movie, the sleep after in her Double bed, and all the time that Humming of her mother in her head.
0
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
*** AND AFTER.
She knows one day *** will be a memory, A nightly séance with Her dead self. Hardwick Will still be just one of Her many lovers, ******* His pants in some old folks Home, dribbling over his Shirt, forgetting her as he Turns to go numbly to sleep. She inhales her cigarette, Watches the smoke rise, Sees in the corner of her Room, a spider hanging. Hardwick is due at seven. He will bring white wine, Foreign food, the hot **** Movie they both want to See, then to bed, *** sleep. She exhales the smoke, holds The cigarette to one side, her Naked body sensing warm The sheets. Suzie he’ll say, Putting the wine and food in The fridge, placing the movie On, can we try that position on Page 35? Last time it was page 32, the position not much fun, Too much work, quite hard to do. Mother’d turn in her grave to See her thus. Naked at four in The afternoon, smoking French Cigarettes, thinking of hot *** Wanting old age to stay away. She sits up, stubs out the cigarette. Mother died of cancer, too soon, Too much, no answer. Hardwick Will bring and expect the same: The wine, the food, the *** after The movie, the sleep after in her Double bed, and all the time that Humming of her mother in her head.
terry-collett
Written by
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem