literature

Whitest of Saturdays.

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Literature Text

All the presents under the tree now
For your children you can't remember
When you passed out at the horn of a snow plow
You were shopping on the 4th Friday in November
And now it's tomorrow and you don't know a thing
About the life you left in a smattering.

The string lights clicked off and on in a pattern
And your eyes shone like an open window
You haven't a hint of concern
For the family you left to be a widow
The snow was thick on the front lawn
Still pristine since the kids were gone.

Your mother called to ask if you were better
And you were the one to answer the phone
You said, "hello, who are you-- Loretta?
I'm sorry ma'am but I'm afraid I don't know
You." I heard her sobbing on the line
And you looked at me like it was all fine.

And you were like a blank white slate
The way you stared seemed to seal your fate
For the next morning you were dead
Completely naked but the stitches on your forehead
You held a note saying, "who am I?"
An empty pill bottle and fingers in a peace sign.

Merry Christmas.
Dangers of shopping part two
© 2010 - 2024 claytonwoolery
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