by Laura Doom

Roseanne insisted that I had unresolved
issues, and recommended I seek
professional help.
Her hair was short and flat,
the perfect nest
for her gaping mind.

She talked for a while
though it may have been longer,
describing the world in detail
as I drifted back
to the one bed end-of-terrace
flat, the plastic garden, the mother
berating her reflection.

On returning, I made my excuses
and offered her directions
to the next victim.
I often think of her
when life seems flat.


Posted on 03/10/2015
Copyright © 2020 Laura Doom

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 03/13/15 at 07:59 PM

Sarcasm in full bloom!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/13/15 at 11:13 PM

Biff! Pow! Loved that second stanza. It's good to know when to move someone along.

Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 03/15/15 at 10:23 AM


Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/15/15 at 10:58 PM

I agree with the previous comments. Well done!

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