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 snobbery weren't the real reason she was sendin her
daughter to grammar school in epsom there weren't one
ounce of snobbery in her workin for the money a daily
grind rising at dawn facing frosty drives from one end of
the city to another she runs a tight ship returning as late as
her eyes can stay open wit her hands clenched into coils
so tight you'd think they wont never open again and you'd
be right they might never but how they'd once spread
apart explosive like stars wit the earth on her hips swaying
through her santiago days settin off triggers of tremors so
sudden on the street wit peaches roll in free as she walked
in deadly decibels past the fruit vendor who was yellin at
the frisky fruit for bein bruised and shrunken too shrunk
in fact to sell to a gatherin group of men each still holding
their terremoto and one of them a builder from pica saw her
and followed her home all the ways across the pacific to a
volcanic plateau where they got a room in a small house
living together til he caught her cuttin herself and she saw
ghosts and he didn't know what to do cept kiss her quick
leavin her accusin her of bein bad n mad but he was so
wrong she said so very very wrong cos she had a plan and
it was a good one and it was for their daughter who along
wit da pills in her purse kept her going all day and it werent
that she was a snob she said but she werent gonna send her
daughter to the wrong school wit the wrong bunch of kids
dem ferals from da factories she'd say wit no shame cos
it werent about scores nor it werent about deciles it was
bout nuffin but minglin wit the right sorts of people like the
daughters of da dentists and the daughters of the doctors in
a school wit a good reputation cos reputation stuck like a
speculum and opened doors no matter what the flaws and
there was always flaws she knew but a good school hid em
like how the scarf round her neck hid her cuts and this was
better than forgiveness she thought
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Author:Smeaton, Carin
Publication:Atlanta Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Mar 22, 2017
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