she screams.
“fuck off back to where you came from!”
her words
her spittle
projectiles across the car park

to the lady who lifts her head,
tightens the knot of her headscarf,
turns and walks away.

“Get back here, don’t you turn your back on me!”
she howls
her arms outstretched
needing
grasping at the outline of her.

Rain starts to fall, bounces off asphalt.
Only to fall the short distance back to the ground.
Only to pool, then run to the gutter.

She walks back to her car, to where her daughter has sat
watching
listening,
now following the rain drops with her tiny fingers
down the windscreen.

 

Forum Comments:"Yer piece of shit!"
Image Credit:Steve Baker
Michael Ashley lives in West Yorkshire, & in between dodging the turds that life throws at him, and walking his dogs, he writes a little poetry. His work has been published in Carnival Lit Mag, Gutter Eloquence, HorrorSleazeTrash, Zygote in my Coffee, Rusty Truck, Boyslut, Black Listed Mag, and many more.

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