Eminem’s Mother

Inner city slick

tyres with perfect grip

no chance of a slip

I play with real chips!

It’s not my turn to shine

I had it all back in 1999

when the internet was gold

So I am told I had it all.

But not content with just a new pepper pot

In with the artists and writers I put my lot

of making marks on a page or typewriter

of making friends with those inside you

with ideas and thoughts that will knock you over

and make you think and make others think about ya.

Trying trying and hoping in your luck to be an artist just to be in a land of so much money

and materialsism of intellectual inferiority held up by progeny

and exalted in friendships harmony towards international misogyny!

I was wrong about so much I was told, I read and became old, I spurted in growth

like magma only to solidify like an alien frozen by oxygen in our atmosphere.

And was towed off on a cart meant for artists installations

to a place with empty refreshing stations to fill my own calculations of how to live and

breathe.

Never mind the palpitations. We are a nation’s melting pot of glistening beings

held and nurtured from breast milk to water to coffee and hot chocolate not forgetting diet

cola.

We are must be now and here for this is no rehearsal and tomorrow will come and bring

tomorrow’s problems that we hopefully dealt with so we can play and do what we enjoy in

part of the normal that lives inside you like Eminem’s mother, never there to hold you but

to guide you. As you pray for a new tomorrow. One without the fear of failure or the need

for success and muscles bulging all over like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Chest. Let it be is

what

we pray when hoping for a better day.
And going to sleep with the light on is no problem!

Published by Andrew Mark Watkins

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