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(Need suggestions for a title :) and any other thoughts or criticism. remember the poet is not necessarily the narrator. :) Thank you.)


My mother is a robot. She has years
of programming. She repeats the words
that were so long ago embedded in her memory.
Boys only want one thing.
When kids become teenagers the iron in their blood turns to lead in their butt.
Don't spit on your own floor.
Brazil nuts are called nigger toes
and flip-flops are thongs.
She had a glitch in her harddrive once
and spent a few years as a young flower in the wind
with long flat hair parted down the middle.
Then she was repaired, reprogrammed to believe in playing
by the rules, spanking her children, and paying taxes.
She gasps when I say Damn it, cringes
at violence on TV, refuses to talk
about sex, and looks away when someone makes a vulgur gesture.
I think my mother needs an upgrade. She is a free-spirit wrapped
in a bible with a man pressing down. She hides her vibrator
in her sewing bag. She occasionally drinks cheap wine for medicinal purposes,
but she makes someone else buy it. An ostrich with its soul stuck
underground, she doesn't speak her mind because someone, somewhere
may not like what she says. She means nothing
and everything. A soft blanket
put away on a shelf until her children are cold.

By M. Qualls