Old bottle of "Evening in Paris"
M'am’s Dream Book
By Marion
M'am had a dream book
of pictures tore from magazines:
fancy, gold-rimmed dishes, flower gardens
and silk dresses that she glued and taped
to dime store paper in a old, beat-up
folder I had from 3rd grade.
It were worn from handling and
the page tops bore the
print of her licked thumb.
It smelled of broken dreams
and Evening in Paris.
M'am’s one extravagance
was that cheap
perfume in a cobalt blue bottle.
She rationed that
stinkin’ horse piss
like it were Shalimar.
When I was a little girl I useta say,
“M'am, when I grow up I’m gonna
buy you a big ole house with a
front and a back porch and a rose
garden.”
I never did, though.
M'am died last year, homeless,
all wore out from hard livin’.
I’ve since learnt that dreams
are for other folks
and not the likes
of M'am and me.
