Bargaining for apples

In contaminated bins

The sitting money bought us 

time together

Cut in thirds across an empty carpet

Out of Love

She said goodbye 

To blame or scorn or sin

A borrowed bread 

broken by shame

For needs that were both 

unseen yet hidden

Frigid heir 

And invisible descendants baring a name known only too well

You must be well fed

You must be well bread

Your assumption indicates that you’ve not paid

Attention

Standing only in the entrails of a pheasant shot by her father

Dead peasant tax, they call it

Fluming plumes, parade down Social Street

Dancing for your amusement

The ones who’ve nothing to eat

What’s in their fridge you ask?

Orange bricks stamped Govn’ment Cheese

Does my head count?

Father hallowed be thy name, one God under which we sit, stand, beg

What’s in their fridge, you ask?

Frozen oil assets attesting to their greed and needs beyond comprehension, apology, sin or kin

You call ourself family yet let your self in

A brown papered stranger, name scrawled across masking tape

I declare me 

Dominion over basic needs

You have none

That I can see.

Decades after D’Angelos

The angels she herd and saw 

Decades after gutting grouse, fish, flesh and fowl

She

Sauntered down the black tarred road

And said

I leave this Lot

I tread ahead

To graze in pastures of purity greens

He plowed the way for me

He plowed the way for me

And stocked my frigid air

With breathing space 

Infinitely 

~

Tonight’s prompt comes from a delightful invitation by D’Versed: What’s in Your Fridge. I couldn’t resist. Seeing as how I’m in a hotel room equipped only with my phone, linking is tricky but you can find the lovely poet laureates hereChilling Out | dVerse https://dversepoets.com/2017/10/10/chilling-out/ doing their thang. Thank God for poetry! 

I think it’s time for tea now. xo-e
  

9 thoughts on “Lot’s

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