Turn your back
That’s when they come to play
Mama Jen reaches for her flask
Uncle Ben goes down to line up a track
Little Sara and Ken running around chasing hens
Put that light on and everything goes back to place
Looking in at their perfect faces but turn out those lights
That’s when they come to play
Daddy Phil is bandaging his bruised knuckles
Mama Jen needs about 8 more drinks
Her perfect body is cracking
No one sees the pain even these pure dolls can break
Such a great poem. You are very talented.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for the kind words!
LikeLiked by 1 person