By J.J. Tindall
Mother
My mother is dead, my girlfriend
Is crying and I’m ogling
The morning weather,
Some major market blues
On a horizon
Lush with data.
Everywhere data infuse
The rain and the wrath.
She put it in writing
In 1991, taking us all
Off the hook.
Do. Not. Resuscitate.
Soft landing, in hospice jargon.
If I’m going
Let me go.
She was going
So we let
Her go.
When it was over
She was radiant.
Now what?
No wrath,
Some rain.
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J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood’s poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.
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More Tindall:
* Chicagoetry: The Book
* Ready To Rock: The Music
* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance
Posted on February 19, 2018