based on Degas' painting "Woman with Chrysanthemums"
Mother, I have lost my left-hand glove
Again. If I ever find it
I shall throw it down as a gauntlet
On your grave
I am through with
The nauseating, gaudy things
You made me wear
How often you called me
Naughty Kitten. Naughty Kitten?
I scorn the pugnacious din
Gathered in this lobby
For your dirge. I want to purge
You here in the drab, dark, musty
Death parlor where you lie
Beneath crysanthemums and misery.
(The mother which emerged from this group-generated poem bears no resemblance to my own, wonderful mom, thankfully!)
