A mother’s day murder

Herbert List

A vaccine won’t be the end of what we decided in pain,
When we decided the end of freedom, that of moving around,
That of exceptions, of short changing and being bastardly born ;
Dear mother, now think, you had me at push and shove.

Forward push to freedom’s end, that of moving around,
That of not being where one said they were ; shove about
The freedom to be huge, that to lie : you’ll miss these, and
It’s yet another conversation held while looking at fingers.

We’ll get back to the office, let’s not please think otherwise,
It’ll be one of the many things we try in pain, that,
And the end of freedom, that of being multitudes,
That of irrelevant averages, that of lying ; we’ll miss these.

Mother, you had me when you were young,
And for you I was the end of freedom, that of being alone –
Moments which average, illness misdirected at a sibling,
Now I am back at the office. I miss the past, you, and the lies.

Crédit image : Herbert List

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