Submitted Date 03/22/2019

Uncle Jim

Not James


With a pill-habit wife

The bed is the only piece of furniture

Crumpled with use

The rest supports stacks of photographs too ugly to be framed


He visits his ramrod mother

And her other every other weekend


With the rest of the sad clowns

Lethargically putting on a travelling circus

Now too tired to move

Stuck in the same dead end town

With no more audience members to be drawn into the pit

Of circling acts

Going too slowly to stay upright anymore

And they all fall down

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  • Tomas Chough 7 months, 3 weeks ago

    I know a bunch of people like this. It's pretty sad to see. Great way of describing it poetically. Thanks for sharing!

    • Zoe Dabbs 7 months, 2 weeks ago

      I do as well -- pretty universal right? Thanks for reading, always appreciate it!

  • Miranda Fotia 7 months, 2 weeks ago

    Great piece! I've noticed more and more people are becoming miserable like this from my mom's generation. Not exclusive to that age range, but a man with orange leathery skin in an AC/DC t-shirt comes to mind when I read this poem and his wife with her hair that has been dried out from too many perms and blonde hair dye teased and hairsprayed that always sounds like she's whining when she talks...

    • Zoe Dabbs 7 months, 2 weeks ago

      Great visuals! I'd say that we all have our version of that, and definitely along the lines of the people in this poem -- just add a couple smoke-stained armchairs and empty high balls!

  • Sherryl 7 months, 1 week ago

    I like this writing, it gives the visuals I believe the author is seeking. Good job.

    • Zoe Dabbs 7 months, 1 week ago

      Thank you Sherryl, very much appreciate the compliment.