The Home
by Jerry Ratch
They take her cookies
they take her Coke
they take her Kleenex
the whole box
not the used ones
They take, they steal
everything
They'd take the brain
out of an ox
if they could
Diamonds they steal
bars of soap
as long as they're not
wet
They take the pens
she would write with
Now there's no more
communication
with the outside
Eh, what's the use?
Food they steal
tufts of wool
fallen off the lamb
They steal the shadow
from under stones
the cool breath
off the face of the sky
They take the time
right off the clocks
and don't ask
how or if or why
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Author's Note
these "homes"
Other stories by Jerry Ratch
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Oh my word, I love this. I just do.
fav and back for more tomorrow!
yep
Good piece, Jerry.
Good poetry Jerry, I like the way it builds into that last stanza. God, save me from The Home.
We're so screwed!
Very well done. I really like the pace which puts us all so much closer to the end that much sooner. Scary. Nice.
Great!
*
Thank you, thank you!
When I go, I'm taking Mr. Smith & Mr. Wesson with me.
I came back. Still love it. You did a good thing!
Well said.
Thanks, Kari!
Liked this
Jerry, I was put in mind of my mother-in-law, whose last days were spent in the midst of those like you describe. Her hair was thin, and they took her wig. Her clothes went missing. The saddest thing, I believe, was when we found her eyeglasses on another woman's face. Great piece.
Thanks, Grey and Gloria!
yeah. they take everything and go. And
the poem remains.
"they take the time right off the clocks"
I love that.
haha nice this is a neat view