a poem by Claws Solange
Mama wears blue velour outfits,
polka dot sneaker wedges with a
side ponytail and pink lipstick
while she makes breakfast because
you wants Papa to think
“dang, she woke up like this”
but really, she just wants to pretend
like she just worked out because
she never does yet
she wonders why she has not lost weight.
Mama goes to my Papa’s work with him
when he’s visiting clients
not because she wants to meet them
but because she wants to make sure
that Papa is not lying.
Then mama shows me Facebook videos
of random animals doing random
human things. I enjoy them but
I’m still bored in a car.
She complains her phone always dies.
Mama does not understand battery life and
its relationship to data.
Papa farts and Mama gets angry.
Mama farts and starts giggling outrageously.
They both share a small love couch
and eat a lot of nut mixes
but if Papa farts and it smells,
Mama pretends she is dying or having an asthma attack
and is very angry at Papa all night.
Asthma runs in my Papa’s family,
not my Mama’s. But drama does.
Blonde hair, very black olive eyes
5’0 and wears a black fanny pack all the time
with nothing really ever in it.
5’8, fluffy mustache under his nose.
Nose looks like a potato
and hates everything my mother buys him
but he still wears it.
I guess that’s real love?
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