Just looking out the window, procrastinating, at my lovely neighbor at the playground and I thought I'd post a poem I wrote one hot night last summer:
Behind the flawless
hedges and flowers
that decorate the
lawn, lives the monster.
You can’t see it, just
lipstick and a smile.
But late at night in
the heat, screens open,
listen and you can
hear the monster rage;
shouts, insults, slammed doors
and smacks on skin echo.
If nothing’s said, does
it think we can’t hear?
Perfect mother,
perfect life.
Monster lies.
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