Momma’s Prayer

You invertebrate
Posin’ in some fancy exoskeleton that ain’t yours
I’m no conchologist
So don’t think I won’t out you
Yes I know the words
You scumopod scavenger
My boy’s a marine biologist
I put him through school
You were doin’ time
A dime plus
What you hidin’
You shouldn’t come near the beach if you scared
I know who you are
You ain’t changed
That colorful little shell
Doesn’t hide your smell
Darkness has no spine
If you real
Squirm out
But don’t be playin’ MY boy for his shells
Quit usung what ain’t yours
Be gone
I can forgive
But I can’t turn my eye to your shell game
You leave on out with the next tide
And go back to the depths you crawled out of
I’ll be prayin’
I can do that
Maybe you can find a spine
And stand tall like a man should
But until that day
Leave before I forget I went to church Sunday
For Magpie Tales #69

18 thoughts on “Momma’s Prayer

  1. I love the exactitude in this poem– reference to the exoskeleton– when we establish the nature of a thing we can then extrapolate to it emotionally in the lyric, I think. Sorry if that's a fuzzy comment– three a.m. in Colorado. xxxj

  2. Love the juxtaposition of anger/attitude with a hermit crab. So ironic. Nice job pulling that one out (no pun intended!) Well written, too.

  3. Like your play on words Henry. I see the stereotypical (scumbag?)drug dealer in fancy clothes peddling dime bags (if there really are such things)to the serious, courageous boy/young man trying to make a success of life the hard way. Wobderful imagination and facility with ideas/words.

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