The Messy Ones




Lollipop fingers grasped the hem of her skirt;

She shooed his pudgy hands away, continuing


In her attempt to entertain the gentleman at her left;

He ignored the pudgy fingers, too.


By war’s end, she’d lost her job at the factory, and

Her old man lay perpendicular to a stone


There were no brothers, no father, no uncle or

Gramps to take her and her boy in;


There were expectations, hunger, desires,

Needs, that long-awaiting future, for her,


For her boy, the one with no voice and

Ears that serve him no good;


She’d not deprive all she had in this world;

This was no time for being a lady

This was no time for prideful ways


Potatoes, clothes, shoes on little feet, and lollipops,

That’s all that mattered now.


photo credit: <a href=””>B.S. Wise</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

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