Didja ever feel like a summer snowman?
Out of luck, living on borrowed time,
constructed from leftovers sentimentally
stored, given birth because Mom decided
to clean out the freezer.
And so, into existence, doomed from the start;
a pointless life lived for the amusement
of others, spent wearing black after Memorial Day
and wool in July, mouthing prayers to St Jude even
as the good saint's boss overrules and the
sun moves into position overhead.
Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015
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