Issue
#4

July
2009

a poem by David LaBounty

at this moment

there is a mother
talking on her
cell phone while
pushing her
tiny daughter
on the swing
and the mother
has nice polished
nails, the
hair is shiny
here and there
as it reflects
the setting sun
as it drops behind
the green budding
trees as if
the setting sun
is God slowly
winking before
the Michigan
summer assaults
us all with its
humidity and haze
and
the mother is
talking, asks
so-and-so if
they stayed
at so-and-so's
all night and
how she left at
twelve thirty
because nothing
was happening
and how she's
been sick ever
since her and
John got back
from New York
and
in my sexism and
judgment
I stare her up
and down, turn
away when
I see her backside,

so many French
fries, rum
and cokes and
sedentary hours
shoved
into her
tightly
denimed ass.

© David LaBounty

 return to top        printer-friendly