The Beasts of Summer
Oh dear god, it is the first day of summer vacation and it is raining. The children are behaving like two predatory animals locked together in a cage. I have been trying to work, stupid me. Kate, who must be dragged kicking and screaming out of bed every morning before school woke me up at 6:30 am to see if she could turn on the TV. I have now sent them both in to clean their rooms. Jack is fake crying, Kate is doing god knows what, but they have a task and every time they make me insane I am going to make them clean something, and I am turning off the damn T.V. God save me from Animal Planet. Kate: I can't clean because you only gave me a granola bar and milk for breakfast. Jack: I can't clean because I have to take a shower. Kate is now eating cornflakes and under threat of imminent death if she either turns tv back on or does not return to room immediately upon finishing cornflakes. Jack is locked in room and threatened with painful hair pulling if he emerges with room untouched. I am going to end this post and do laundery. Later, bank and supermarket with the horror twins. Is it too early for a margarita?
Dark Side
by DeAnna Jones
I say I can't imagine it but I can,
otherwise it wouldn't be so horrible,
all those crimes against children,
mothers drowning their babies in bathwater,
strangling them with laundry wire,
driving off leaving them alone
trapped in a crib or hot vacant rooms,
left in closets or parked cars, windows
barely cracked, or not cracked at all.
I say I can't imagine it and what I mean is I do.
I sit on my couch after my son has fallen asleep
and think of driving to the store
just down the street, just to pick up
ice cream or bread.
I'd know how long he'd be asleep.
I could be back. I could be alone.
I could walk into that grocery air,
florescent light washing me out,
up and down through the aisles,
absent-minded, slow, biding my time
over vegetable cans, soup, pre-packaged
pasta dinners.
I might even stand in line
staring off into space until the teller says,
Miss,
and I hear,
Mommy,
a snag in the dream, tiny fingers pulling
at my shorts and slipping around my knee,
nothing there when I look but space.
Oh dear god, it is the first day of summer vacation and it is raining. The children are behaving like two predatory animals locked together in a cage. I have been trying to work, stupid me. Kate, who must be dragged kicking and screaming out of bed every morning before school woke me up at 6:30 am to see if she could turn on the TV. I have now sent them both in to clean their rooms. Jack is fake crying, Kate is doing god knows what, but they have a task and every time they make me insane I am going to make them clean something, and I am turning off the damn T.V. God save me from Animal Planet. Kate: I can't clean because you only gave me a granola bar and milk for breakfast. Jack: I can't clean because I have to take a shower. Kate is now eating cornflakes and under threat of imminent death if she either turns tv back on or does not return to room immediately upon finishing cornflakes. Jack is locked in room and threatened with painful hair pulling if he emerges with room untouched. I am going to end this post and do laundery. Later, bank and supermarket with the horror twins. Is it too early for a margarita?
Dark Side
by DeAnna Jones
I say I can't imagine it but I can,
otherwise it wouldn't be so horrible,
all those crimes against children,
mothers drowning their babies in bathwater,
strangling them with laundry wire,
driving off leaving them alone
trapped in a crib or hot vacant rooms,
left in closets or parked cars, windows
barely cracked, or not cracked at all.
I say I can't imagine it and what I mean is I do.
I sit on my couch after my son has fallen asleep
and think of driving to the store
just down the street, just to pick up
ice cream or bread.
I'd know how long he'd be asleep.
I could be back. I could be alone.
I could walk into that grocery air,
florescent light washing me out,
up and down through the aisles,
absent-minded, slow, biding my time
over vegetable cans, soup, pre-packaged
pasta dinners.
I might even stand in line
staring off into space until the teller says,
Miss,
and I hear,
Mommy,
a snag in the dream, tiny fingers pulling
at my shorts and slipping around my knee,
nothing there when I look but space.
posted by MJ at 9:42 AM
1 Comments:
It's never too early for a margarita!
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