Six Glimpses of a Fallout
1.
Wanting to chuck clothes over the balcony,
soil them in winter sludge.
Wishing my mother hadn’t raised
a genteel Southern lady.
2.
A child slurps milk from a cereal bowl.
Uncorrupted and unaware
he burps then giggles.
3.
Dresser drawers vacated,
empty hangers quivered
on a cold metal rod.
4.
Hands dip in scalding water.
Clean dishes offer comfort.
5.
Head bowed in guilty resignation,
he shuffles past.
No “I’m sorry.”
Not even a remorseful glance.
6.
Black suitcase stowed by the door
awaits retrieval
and a new home.
(Inspired by “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird” by Wallace Stevens and “6 Versions of Depression” by Beatrice Underwood-Sweet)
4 thoughts on "Six Glimpses of a Fallout"
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Nice.
the snapshot progression leads to leaving
Lovely subtlety and great images.
Love this!