On blood red stone
Her with two sons
One on hip
The other strangled
Like an afterthought
His squint and fly net
Strapped like a limpet to a rock
Her teenage leg his bulwark
Against feverish adulthood
Her determined view
“That’s just how it is”
A resolute optimism
In the face of this desert
Married to a man
She barely knew
Met him at a party
Her nineteen dancing and drunk
He five years older with a car
And in the back seat it seems natural
Like rivers flooding in April
That she should nurse this life
Into the puking shitting world
A Catholic Catechism sanctified
By both sides of the family
Them all drained of fluids
Husk people hand of god
That feel nothing
Where is your touch
That gentle hand upon my head
Sighing me to silence
That sends my body to sleep
And brings me dreams of violence?
© shaun patrick green 2012
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