Get the LED Out
Grandolph Biggs
MOM was a thousand
watt amplifier
like a pop of a tire
turning the volume up higher
and higher
fifteen-inch sub woofers
crippled she clanged
shook and the ceilings sang
to the beat of the drum
an inhibitor numb
the strum of the guitar
straight jacket insane
she was the electricity supplying
Jimmy Page’s rage on stage
like a sky she rocked it
blowing up like transistors
on a stormy night she rode the
lightening frightening
they were boozed up again
like a birthday party
no surprise
mom’s silver-blue bashed eyes
a father fuming in an alcohol disguise
her head risked and
and the unstopped fist
banged her face like nirvana
a little boy in a little blue shirt
screaming to “STOP”
a slippery slope I slopped
and slobbered tears
a crash test dummy
sickness engulfed my
tummy like gin and rummy
I fold and force him to stop
mom’s head bubbled backwards
like a dirty mop into the
head rest she
sat back and sopped
and my dad he was no
artist he painted a picture
with wet bruised brushes
bleeding beauty the hardest
mom was a duct tapped
punching bag
like icy branches
her shoulders sagged
her battered body was
walking along the ridge
of an impending avalanche
and she had no shelter
no place to stay without
being a slave pills proliferated
my stomach and her pleading
superseded my membrane
and I sat back and complained
about aches and pain
while she was drowning
in dew she smiled
like the smell of the sea
peddling away
she faded away
when I had left you
at the murky motel
like a Georgia summer rain
your smile walked a mile
when I returned
the door was red
like a smoke alarm
I grabbed my brother’s arm
splintered the chain and lock
you were
limp and lonesome
a dove dreary no more
heavy loads to carry
with your head in your lap
with your cold limbs
with your hard tongue to
speak no more it swelled
to no avail cold water
wasn’t enough I
punched concrete
columns like
leather tuff
like a hammer
hitting an anvil
the veil
came down