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Glutton for Punishment
Shelley Ettinger
Fat battered Mom on her deathbed. Splattered splayed
pinned pithed. She was. Spluttering profane with pain. She was. Cackling
about Canadian geese, winged pilgrimage, drought, plague, man, fiend.
The villagers should pillage, rape the invaders, not the other way around.
She said. Choose well, my girl. She warned. Wrong turn, it's your head.
Final bill comes due once you're softened for the kill.
Sit on my lap. Take heart. Tachycardia.
Remember the law of the conservation of matter. The mother muttered.
Utter swill. Puncture me, I ooze, drink my juice. Aha! She spat. Take
that! Her last advice: don't fantasize about offing your dad. She laughed.
Don't live in the past. It'll give you gas.
© Shelley Ettinger
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