TRAGIC Poem: Costs, by Chelsea Furman

Bitter hoppy drink
Foam slides over the edge
Brought by an overworked mom
Caring for me more than her own

I drink but I don’t think
Of the cost to myself, to her, to children
What of my liver? What of my work?
Can I get you another?

Full bodied and malty.
She scrubs tables and takes orders,
her children lie in bed hungry
craving something hot and salty.

Bubbly in the head I drive
home to bed.
Instead another bartender
leaving for home ends up dead.

Author: poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film. View all posts by poetryfest