Mother’s Day, Two-Thousand and Eight,
I awake, around dawn, caked
to my plastic mattress,
as my dearest mistress in distress
huddles on the corner of our bed
in a puddle bloody red,
cuddling her pillow,
flushed of her motherly glow...
We stand in the shower,
steaming under the hot water,
with bubbles foaming lather
and scrub our tinged skin.
