Father was a liability
running wild uncensored
through the town.
House maids waved
to him as he ran past
their huts overflowing
with unwashed laundry.
Father’s flickering brain
cells flashing on and off
like super novas in unchecked
space made screech owls
in backyards along the way
speak in tongues, inspiring
wayward field mice to stand
at attention on top of random
wood piles and they dutifully
reminded forgetful Grandmothers
to liberally restock their root
cellars with homemade raspberry
marmalade and strawberry
preserves all winter.

– Rachel Sterling