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Castaway
She talked about her family in glimpses,
like she was always walking a tightrope.
Between normal and just chucking it all,
for the next bus that might give her some hope.
She tried to paint a picture of her town,
pristine houses along a tree-lined strand.
Faces peeking around window curtains,
fathers in doorways with belts in their hand.
When she ran out of brown, umber and black,
she was embarrassed when a laugh slid out.
She’d been taught that in midwestern values,
unwed mothers had nothing to laugh about.
Copyright ©
Jerry Brotherton
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