Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

blue mohawk girl

there was no part of me
that could find the will
to protest

when the 18 year old
blue mohawk girl
with a screaming sticky-dirty baby
on her hip
and more metal in her face
than a tackle box
cut me off
in the u-scan lane
at the super market

all i could muster was pathos
as she began charging her dreams away
one baby food jar at a time

i know her
i’ve been her

either daddy didn’t love her enough


he loved her

a little too much