Francie Lynch

Crib - Poem by Francie Lynch

You play three.
Me, seven.
Fifteen for two.
This is when I lose you.
Your phone vibrates,
You levitate
Sitting across from me;
Making me audience
To all the drama.
You vibrate. Your shoulders droop
Like the gape-toothed village idiot.
You gesticulate, fading in and out
In a semi-conscious awakening.
Your trembling under stones
Sitting on your chest.
It shows in your trembling hands.
Twenty, for two...
Twenty-five, for six...
I overhear your child is truant,
Another wants a ride;
Another, a car or doctor or lawyer.
You're shuffling in your seat.
Not to worry.
Soon after the stones are lifted,
And you're properly pegged
In the stink-hole, the game's over.
Thirty, for twelve, and a go. Game.
So, deal with it.

Topic(s) of this poem: parents

Comments about Crib by Francie Lynch

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

Poem Submitted: Saturday, August 2, 2014

[Hata Bildir]