U little god digger!
who thinks that love is Gold
traded in for ur beauty.

Ur son
u had him
retake photos of U
with profiles on the sands.

Granular scrubs
smooth rough
faces swiped away
from shedding light.

Heaven forbids
if unflattering lips
were to tell
ur secrets.

Ur son
(I mean the stranger)
holds the camera steady
for Ur poses.

Ur boyfriend
doesn’t know
he feeds
two mouths
not one.

u video chat
with the pizza delivery man
or Ur cousin Rodriguez
or who ever he is U tell him
as u lay in his bed at night.

u’d walk across town to check
on how ur son is doing
beyond the camera lens.

But this isn’t Puerto Rico
It’s U in Utica. And it’s a bitch back.
It snows in beaches
piling up pale white ugly
at your footsteps
heaved not by tide
but shoveled by u.

The wind howls
this is not where u belong.

But now where?

Ghosts no longer haunt Ur iPhone
u had cleared ur cache of memory
from home.

Author: Rj Wiechecki

I am a writer, both poet and philosopher. I do works of philosophy through the medium of poetry. I also do commissioned work as a poet as a business.

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About Rj Wiechecki

I am a writer, both poet and philosopher. I do works of philosophy through the medium of poetry. I also do commissioned work as a poet as a business.

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