Lawrence Beck Poems
- Kearney? I've seen my share of paradises, strolled The Prado...
- Fool I may be a bigger fool than even I Believed I was. ...
- Two Sad Poems From Row 15, Seat K If only life was more ...
- Intimacy This town is too damned small for me To do what I'd...
- Unfortunately Our love is a potted plant we've placed Upon a...
- Lucifer The winner writes the story, eh? That's how I've ...
- Mom She sits, half drunk, on a stool In the kitchen, pissed ...
My advice to anyone reading one of my poems: read it so quickly as you can the first time through. Since I write in a rush, my melody will become most evident if you read in a rush.
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She sits, half drunk, on a stool
In the kitchen, pissed off about
Something. She's always pissed
Off. The TV is on. The dishes
Aren't done. When I come
Home from school, and I lay
Down my bag because I've
Gotten hungry; I just want
To eat, she says, “Pick up
That shit. It belongs in your
Room, ” so I pick it up. I go
Off without food, and lay
Down on my bed. I've read
So many poems about
Mothers who nurture, and
Love, and all that, but she
Isn't one. She's a rotten old
Bitch, and I wouldn't weep
If she was gone.