Suffer The Dead Daughter Poem by Michael Brosky

Voices of the dead daughter
Echo from uncanny molds
Myths
Bliss
And this is how it is
Cars slow down as they pass the pretty girls
They enhance their curves by wicked smiles and postures
No one is looking at the sky
Because angels fall here on earth
No one is looking at the eyes
Because to see would really hurt
These souls have twisted
Into strange figures that resemble
Parasites and scavengers
No one is looking at the sky
Because the angels are vultures on the earth.
The cars speed away and the girls whip fingers
They laugh and make fun of the departure
One by one they enter phone booths
To call for rides and places to stay
They cry while they wait
Showering the concrete beach with
Voices of the dead daughter
Echoing, echoing from uncanny shells
Myths
Bliss
And whatever else there is….
Train whistles down the river valley
Roaring lions
A hawk sails across a pale, blue sky
Watchers on high
Candy wrapper blows down the walk
Wasted shells away
Wasted shells away