~PAMELA GEMIN~
WHAT'S GOING ON
Summer of nineteen
seventy-something,
somebody's little sister
has a baby.
We all drive the fifty
miles of
Metro artery
into Detroit's sooty heart
to see
for ourselves.
Blazing full-blown daylily
summer,
bulldozers
pulling up malls in the
immigrant
fields,
four or five long-haired
girls in
a Mustang,
windows down and wailing
to Marvin
Gaye÷
you know we've got to
find a
way
to bring some
understanding
here today
One of us now an aunt with
a big
stuffed dog
in a carful of big stuffed
hungover
heads with freshly
shampooed bangs.
All of our fathers are
drinking
men
father,
father
we don't need to escalate
war is not the
answer
and only love can conquer hate
and all of our mothers are
lousy
cooks. All of us girls
wear pink lip gloss and
smoke Kool
Kings.
Whose
father
makes the basement wine,
the clear corn liquor we
siphon
and sweeten
with 7-up and
cherries? Whose
mother
makes the borscht and
bitter cabbage
rolls?
Whose father knocks whose
mother
down the stairs?
Whose father
gets
laid off and lets the lawn
grow
back to prairie?
Whose mother hangs the
Christ heart
stuck with thorns on the
kitchen
wall
above the stove?
Take this
and eat
and the spiders hatch in
vacuum
cleaner bags.
And we lift the new child
up
in the swaddling light
of Henry Ford General
Motors where
his mother will spend the
bright
coins
of her teens her twenties
her thirties
her forties
mother, mother, mother
there's
far too many
of you crying
somebody's
mother says
why don't you girls get
that straggly
hair
out of your face, hold up
your heads?
© by Pamela Gemin