poetry critical

online poetry workshop

fake mothers roaming grocery store aisles

He stood in line
the bag held lightly to his chest,
in hopeful anticipation.
She hadn’t noticed him all day,
maybe she wouldn’t now either.
She spoke to their children
with intentional volume
so passers-by couldn’t help but notice
her “parenting”, designed to satisfy
an insatiable need to be thought a good mother;
a saccharine substitute for loving guidance.
As if holding him under,
I witnessed the drowning;
life leaving his surrendered soul,
his white knuckles filling in with color
drained from his face.
The salty snack, forfeit amongst the tabloids.

3 Apr 19

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yeah is heavy. maybe consider a swap of L2 & L3?

Nothing wrong w l6-8. other than her vs. their . Gold

I like l11 but assumes a lot of the reader.

Its a 9 from where I'm sitting. Good on you
 — sixtywatt