Mother Tramp

His mother's name was of no
consequence, but
her profession, nights
of stalking

cigarette-splashed streets,
fed them both. Tied together
with garter-belts and
smoke strings, those

nights knitted
her face with
wrinkles.

She holds the picture of her
college boy and blue light
frosts her knotted
hair.

1988




















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©2005-2008-2008 Barbara L.M. Handley

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Poetry Index

2007
2006
2005
2004
2001
1998
1990
1988
A Moment's Rest
Beth
Catch of the Day
Cool Bitch
Frosts
Gardening
Gingerbread Man
House-Fire
July 10
Late morning dreams
Meeting in Dim Light
Mother Tramp
My Navigator
Roadside Attraction
Saturday Afternoon
Sister
Spring Cleaning
Subtraction
Tete-a-Tete
the honeymoon is over
The Sandal
1987
Early Stuff


Slam Poetry


©2005-2008-2008 Barbara L.M. Handley
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