Two Modern Mothers

December 7, 2014 § Leave a comment

“This is the same street

As that one, you know,

That one that girl was on


One woman says to the other

Over a glass of Sav Blanc,

And tap water

No ice

Across a late-night

Nightcap bar table

Somewhere trendy near the city

While watching another

Woman leave:


 Then back to their daughters…

“I can’t help but think,”

She continues, with a flourish

“If she should wear that?”

“Ohh, well she could,”

Her friend retorts,

“If she were in a pack

Filled with other, you know,

Broady woggy girls,

Or something like that?”


“Ohh for sure, for sure.”

The two coo together

In complementary contrasting winter wear


“The thing is, you don’t want to be

One of those mothers, you know?

Those mothers

The ones who say,

‘You’re not going out in that!’

And become your own mother.

You don’t want to be one

Of those mothers,


You really don’t.”

“All the same…”

A lull

A Facebook check

A toilet break

A refreshment

And we’re back


Over dim flickering candlelight

Mismatched furniture

And a portrait of Napoleon

The women take up conversation

Once again,


In time with The Doors

As a plastic deer illuminates

The spectacle, overlooking them

As more wine is consumed

While guitars underscore

The Apocalypse, The End,

Their final logomachy:

“‘Maybe I’m just a shit parent?!'”

She proclaims,

“I said,

To her face, mind you…

She had nothing to say

To that,

Just sulked to her room”


They laugh together

– Discordant Harmony –

The room pauses

For them to resume conversation,

Which they do,

After a terrifyingly reflective pause


In which they think

About themselves

Their own mothers and daughters…


It’s dark outside;

I wonder if they’ll walk home together

Or perhaps they drove?

Who knows.

They chuckle again

Into their new glass of white,

“Don’t get me started on pornography…”


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