deepundergroundpoetry.com

Down Cast

Into the car this morning,
Alone.
Itís a quarter to ten, my small window of peace.
I feel like Gilbert Grape,
walking around with a hidden shame for this is my newest secret.
She hasnít always been this bad, my mother.

Her new plateau.
Answering my own question,
ďOh, August of last year since I have seen it clean.Ē
Since a guest has been over,
Or a table prepared for dinner.
She hasnít always been this sick, my mother.

For me
A smile and pressed clothes.
At work Ė I look so put together.
My station so clean you could eat off it.
Lord knows we have tried to help her.
She hasnít always been this way, my mother.
Written by IntoTheRain
Published
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