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Between Birth and Decay
My aunt had cancer.
Actually, she still does.
It’s just rotting with her bones in an underground cavern.
Between birth and decay,
it’s the suffering that counts.
Malinger away.
Two other aunts have cancer now.
Don’t they deserve it, never coming to visit
never seeing the suffering until the end.
More endings coming forthwith.
Miami
My ex-boyfriend had gone to Miami for four days in April.
I know because I drove him from the airport.
He went to a strip club.
He met and took pictures of girls he met there.
One night on the town, three pictures of these girls.
I know because one morning after he’d gone to work, I looked through the pictures on his camera.
Six months with me, not a one picture did he take.
I know because I was there.
I know because he’s so predictable.
I know because I drove him to the airport.
Bones
My dog had a bone
but no meat on it
not even much of a scent
where there should have been flavor and bite
My friend nodded
saying it’s a shame
puppies having puppies
but she didn’t know better
She just wanted a chance at a real bone
but she has the real thing now and I give her bacon-flavored bones everyday
See poeticgrin.com for the rules of this exercise.
Note: “Miami” and “Bones” appear to have 11 lines; however, there is one line in each that is too long for wordpress’s sensibilities.
Am I going to kill my mother? My Aunt Ty died. Now, two other aunts on that same side of the family have cancer. These three aunts have at least one thing in common: they always swore that there’d been a mistake and I was their daughter. My aunts soon to be dead or already so. And I wonder, if I’ve killed my other mothers, am I going to kill my own mother.
Ramblings of a Medicated Lady: Words of Woe by Loria Taylor 
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