In Mom’s swinging wicker baskets.
Debris in the system.
A breakdown was a given.
You don’t realize the mess you’re in.
The oily residue
Won’t ever wash off, but you try anyway.
A life shot to pieces, then put on display.
And the pain refuses to go away.
It lingers so long, you know it’s here to stay.
© 2022 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.
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