subjective

Even after her daughters left home for good, riots
of vehement Polish still erupted from the widow’s porch,
a bellowing unholy cursing none of us kids could understand.

Sometimes nothing provoked
her daily rants, sometimes everything.
Behind her door, whatever lonely lamentations
obsessed her seething brain no one knew.

Perhaps she howled at far-away ghosts that haunted
the war-torn ashes of her beautiful Poland.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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