Tiny Play for Three Generations

Forgo the germ wagons, the masked losers with pinched pennies and eyes.
Mum ferries me. Buses are the past. Not that I want her to pay
but I want her to pay. Unsat exams, weight gain, aeons alone.
She`s never called me a shit but she`s thought it.
There`s my online account with a sweet therapist.
Confectionery delivered. Her card.
There was mayhem, then there was adulthood. Rational choices
after reflex / reaction. Delayed growth morphing into career.
I am here. I am never here enough. Everything is a laugh.
I take the kids (kids!) out with my man every given chance.
He is solid. I don`t trust him. There are gaps we can`t paste over
with treats. I demand treats working shifts, my body gone.
My child`s a stranger. 50% genetic mystery. I mean 50% weird,
half another’s, half I gave 100% to. I know that doesn’t add up.
I worked. Her minder was Mummy 2. It wasn`t easy.
Her babies, well, they grew into large lumps with no curiosity
like community`s ancient history and individualism rules.
How do they prove they exist without Insta pics?
If I think about it (I don`t) the nothing in me unfurled at puberty.
I was too perfect. I tried too hard. Love was butter that slid or melted
through me. Therefore I am a crumpet, a quick breakfast for busy mornings
and all my excellence grease on a plate. I stopped doing that to myself.
Rebel Rebel and where did that get me. Love is not obvious.
Love is not dependent on loving. Love is an idea I like to love.
She had such a will I could hardly recognise it, coming from
a breaking of such, war-trauma inability and lack of choice.
Alien motherhood and limited horizons. I refuse responsibility for that.
I have always cared but loving was difficult. Work was better. Work
was identity. Reason and purpose. Work gave me somewhere to be
beyond the constant bloody mewling demands.
Scared all the time. Who are my friends? I will never get married.
My dad is useless. My mum`s man is useless. Fall in love?
The planet`s fucked so why bother. I’m smart I think
but who cares about the future. I sit in my room and eat sweets.
I am sweet. I believe there is something else. I don’t know what.
I remember being happy. I hope for the best. For more.


Sandra Tappenden

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