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Poetry Corner
Betty
Sanders

Apologia from a Teenager’s Mother

“I paid the girl that comes to clean
Ten bucks this morning, John.
She worked like hell to wax the floor
Your muddy shoes are on.
I know! It doesn’t matter and
You’ve heard it all before…”

And John walked through the
    nagging house
And slammed his bedroom door.

I gratefully held the author’s payment in my hands and reflected on the most difficult and, at times, the most unpleasant narration project I’d ever completed. I shouldn’t have been surprised.