poetry critical

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We Wait to Hear the News

They are powdered and fluffed,
presented as perfectly as possible
to tell us about the child left baking
in a car, while his mother
stayed too long getting her fix,
about the body washed from
a drainage ditch, badly decomposed,
(is there another way to decompose)?
We wait for real news - do we have cancer,
is our husband cheating,
are we going to lose the house?
Our children disappear for hours;
though they are old enough,
we watch through windows,
waiting for a car with a red light
flashing, no siren.
What do we care that a million
entertainment miles away,
another movie star is married/divorced/
having a baby, naming it Gangland
or Sympathy or AppleTart?
Name our fears, our sorrows, our joys,
matted and torn and closer to home.
Thank you and good-night.

4 Sep 14

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Unfortunately most live their lives gripped by the fear of what might happen rather than enjoying what is happening. Very interesting poem.

Larry its now or never Lark
 — larrylark

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