Slamming the door open

“…and there’s something I want to do about the suburbs…”
That’s mine!
You got your magnum opus from your murdered daughter! It’s my turn now!

And no no no no no no please don’t murder my daughter!

Let my suburban poems be about
The Murdered Daughter,
O please o please o please o please
let the metaphor be enough!

After all,
in my teary teenage grief
didn’t I refer to my mother as

Was that not a metaphor?
Didn’t a huge part of me
a huge part of us all

Were we all not murdered?
By a ruthlessly horny father,
Zeus himself
disguised as a pharmacist turned pot smoking cliché of
Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice through the looking glass?
And before he killed all of us,
didn’t Medea slay her children
to show him
that she loved him
above all others
and her children
not at all?

give me not the grief of child death!

Don’t make me bargain;
I already


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s