Son

She’s got a ‘gangsta’ son
Which is inconvenient
As she appears on the surface
To be a lovely woman
Shame about the ‘gangsta’ son
And his little misdemeanours
Because from what we know
She’s salt of the earth
Just making her way
In a way that makes her
Like most other mothers
She cares
And despairs
When people say
He’s let her down
Her ‘gangsta’ son
Who never tells her what she already knows
Who doesn’t want her losing sleep
Over ‘bad’ blood spilt
Doesn’t want her listening for the sound of someone else’s loss.
Unaware that most nights
She wakes with the sweat of lies and broken sleep
Sits in a kitchen night of waiting
Wishes that she were less of a lovely woman
Wishes that she could get below the surface and wipe away the scum
Wishes that he were someone else’s son.

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