'Thinking' Poem by Linda Winchell

'Thinking'



Childs eyes drip tears when, blinking.

From childhood sadness, thinking.

For her father was always, drinking.

Smelling of beer and rotted teeth, stinking.

What was her Ma, Ma, thinking?

To have married a man who loved his, drinking?

Grave now is his only, keeping.

From all of life’s misconstrued and stupid, thinking.

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Linda Winchell

Linda Winchell

Chicago Illinois
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