Shirley Jean

This is a poem about someone I knew very well. She died very young, at 34.

a houseful of children
waiting to eat
no way to live
a charmed life
a bushel of beans
a bag of rice
government subsidies
served cold from a can
another day coming
another one gone
babies crying'
more hunger pains
she needs to work
cant get out the door
she's waiting to die
at thirty-four.

a cold piece of work
a lover a friend
beaten and dragged
through a living hell
left for a bottle
a game of 8-ball
holding her chin
as high as it might
the all night shifts
that made her feet roar
she's waiting to die
at thirty-four.

having lived and loved,
without knowing what for,
only living to die,
at thirty-four

Author's Note

Ok, she was my mother. I am only able to see clearly the hell of her life in retrospect. She died when I was eleven.

Reviews

[Tony]

Lloyd, this is a good poem. You have a gift for words. I have known many women like Shirley in my life and I can really feel not only her pain as she holds her head high, but the other deeper pain that so often goes along with it. Usually coming from the lackluster relationships with guys who have multiple agendas. Always hoping for a break that never seems to come.............
Well done.