The Baby

Pale mother is back. She looks tired.

"Where's the baby?"

A shadow walks across her eyes.
"I'll make some Corn Flakes."

"The milks gone off mum,
where's baby?"

She sits down in an easy chair,
picks up a woman's magazine.

"Gone off", she says.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Ashford Avatar
August 12, 2019 at 9:40 AM
Still-births are one of the most less spoken of subjects in poetry I think. Thank you.
Lamoureux Avatar
August 12, 2019 at 9:25 AM
This leaves one to ponder.
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