r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Lynn Strongin

Untitled

 

i.

Mother is going to bed forever

we are hanging up jackets
luminous
as though immersed in silver-salts in the old days
                when photographs were
developed like that.

ii.

The Squeaky Wheel gets the grease:
she did not cry.

Funeral wagons
& dark salt passed her by.

iii.

 
Now Haldol is her guardsman      Haldol

salutes those who go & come             cheering her enough to keep her eyes open:

 
Lorazepam closes them   while Nemendo
toggles memory, exacting a catechism as tough as the beadman's  In a blues-suffused
New York Moment, things could change.

 


 


 

 

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