She was not a Grandmother

She was nearing 70 years, she said

She grew up poor, elsewhere, she said

And moved to a city

near the Great Lakes

She had small talk

to match her limited, incurious mind

She had a wide, open mouth with sharp teeth

her ears closed

except to gossip

her eyes closed

except to covet

her venomous and biting speech

poisons hearts

by choice, deaf to injustice

[except what injures her]

and, also to justice

by choice, blind to truth,

and also to untruths

by choice, she had no grace

no humility

no gratitude

she spoke of how to terminate life

before sharing how life comes to be

hardened to the point of petrification

in less than seven decades, a fossil,

she was not a saintly relic-in-situ

she was not a Grandmother

although her daughters may’ve had daughters

and her unborn sons may’ve fathered sons

she spoiled the sand on a silver beach with her rusted barbs

she defiled the clear lake with her incontinence

the discontent of the chronically thirsty emanated from her rank breath

she despoiled humanity merely by her continued existence

she was not a Grandmother, nor a Crone

but,

She will die

she will, she will, she will

and she will become a gull

devouring and scavenging on barren beach

in the next life

 

 

 


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