Monday, September 1, 2014

The Anneslee Poems: Who's Laughing Now?

Your words start to slur
as you take another sip
and tip-toe across
the kitchen, trying not to
trip over your own feet.

When will you see
you’re too old for this?

You pour another
and another
and another,
never once wondering
if one more
is one more too many.

First, it was only at dinners
and parties and lunches
with clients.
Then came the Happy Hours
with swerving drives home
avoiding ditches.

And last comes now, at home,
where you sit alone
trying to remember
the daughter you drowned
in neglect;
your hate-filled hand erected
like a stone statue at my face.
hits to the back of the head
where the hair hides
your hand print.

Genius… even when you drink.

You sway so close
I can smell the stink
of all your demons
on your breath
and I just want to disappear,
leave this place
full of hate and fear
until it doesn’t exist,
until I don’t exist
and my name cannot
pass through your sour lips
ever again.

Sleep finds you quick
as I sit and wonder
how I ended up
with a mother
like you.
All I can think of –
the only truth in this world –
is God must have
a sick sense of humor, too.

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