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      October 11, 2013R.G. EvansThe Things That Mother Said

      If venetian blinds hung crooked,
      or dishes lay piled in the sink,
      if empty shoes sat strewn around the floor,
      mother would say
       
      Place looks like a niggershack.
      It wasn’t, of course. It was ourshack.
      Catholicshack. Polackshack.
      Leather-strap-to-the-thighshack. Bigotshack.
       
      Ventriloquist of doom, her voice
      still follows me through unkempt rooms,
      and I have to bite my wooden tongue
      to silence her in the ground
       
      where satin must sag sloppily now
      inside her casketshack.

      from #39 - Spring 2013