death
you
mean, cruel
son of a bitch
my parents taught me how to use such vulgar language
and then society managed to squash my wild tongue
quiet my roaring lungs
they said
“honey, that expression is too much”
try to be a little more tamed
that’s what we like in this Christian tradition
there are conditions to be liked in this world
that say fall in line or don’t
but people will roll their eyes
and call you difficult
and obstinent
remember moderate is best
but even delicate is a worthy thumbs up
but my Mother
who out in the world
was a quiet type
let her windpipe release while listening to Celine Dion
she was the one I could tell the truth to about my wild inside
I told her I went streaking at a sleepover
and her eyes lit up
and she cackled
that was how she replied
cackled
bubbling pleasure erupting from her throat
a notes from deep within
free from shame and pretend
all you could do is listen
let that cackle find you too
as it tickles your lungs
demanding a roar
as it pours out of you
the hunger you have inside to live
outside the lines and conditions
away from the robotic way we way
“I’m sorry of your loss”
we toss back and forth to one another
like a prisoner
but I want you to say
death
you
mean, cruel
son of a bitch
ditch the niceties
show me your cackle
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