Work Text:
In the corners of Rose's house, it lurks.
A wine glass here, a vodka bottle there,
chemical vices of a millionaire.
The sour stink of ferment gets on her nerves.
Rose's arsenal is full of sharp words
ready to aim at a mother nowhere
to be seen. Dinners? A thorny affair.
What Rose will never say out loud: It hurts.
*
Roxy decanted a bottle of gin,
10 mL into the volumetric flask.
Upstairs, her daughter played the violin.
She had never asked for this thankless task.
Yet when meteors hit, she has one qualm:
i wish i could have been a better mom