poetry by j matthew waters

feeding the dogs

mama’s in her element
barefoot in the kitchen
sporting blue pocket bib apron
wooden spoon in hand
tall boy budweiser in the other

adjacent room mostly in view
she takes in sights and sounds
expressing neither pride nor prejudice
pretending to understand
present and next generation

her boys should be gone by now
but here they remain
entertaining friends via
rock ‘n’ roll and video games
oblivious to an outer world
that is cruel and dangerous
and quite possibly alluring

if she had her own way
she’d have traded this scullery
long ago to be lost at sea
hand in hand with her young mariner
the one who promised her
the world is here for the taking

january two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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7 thoughts on “feeding the dogs

  1. Such whimsy and sadness here, it’s lovely.

  2. Folksie!
    Strikes a bluegrass chord.

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