Judy always wore work dresses,
pantyhose and low-heel pumps,
wispy hair lumped into place with
AquaNet. I’ll bet she learned that
watching TV, a wannabe
housewife working as a billing clerk,
better than outpicking your brothers
in the cotton fields.
Those boys were both jerks
to her. She lived at home,
chauffeured her mother around.
No friends to be found.
Read True Story magazines
while she daydreamed of her
Prince Charming. She bought him
purple ankle socks and
other silly gifts.
When they married, hospital shifts
riffed into managing his business.
She adopted her little sister
after her mother died.
When a stroke affected speech
and she could no longer walk,
she lived over a decade
in a nursing home, alone
with all the other souls
who could no longer
I was there the night she died.
The nurse sent us out
to check Judy, then came
to say she’d gone.
I know she wanted it that way,
to say a final Fuck You!
We who never had the time
to visit her while living
did not get to use her passing
as a means of self-forgiving.

7 thoughts on “Judy

  1. This is very powerful. I see where, at the time, you saw the emptiness of your life. Nobody in your family cared to be there for you. Your mom was completely ignorant and your siblings inherited that ignorance.
    You saw the futility of your life and even wrote this sardonic, satirical ‘ode’ to your mom.
    I think you did a beautiful job accurately expressing yourself in this piece.

  2. So many of us have should of would of could of. So many live hard lives with sharp endings. If this is real sorry for your loss .,either way a beautiful write

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