My mother
Was a statue on Boston Street
All of her movements away from Portland
Yanked back by bungee cords
To the wood paneled rooms
And the drunks and lunatics
In the bars
Spilling out onto the streets at three in the morning
This is life, we tell ourselves;
Continuing even if we die,
This is life
Moving on without us,
Building Wal-mart
On our graves
And leaving downtown to grow bars like cancer
Rancid breath and burning lungs
This is life
One forgotten bill at a time
One Jack and Coke at a time
Down the throats
Into the stomachs
Growing disease
And malice and bitter memories circling
Like vultures
We were never alive,
We tell our children
Don't stay in this town, we tell them
As we tie the bungee cords to their bedposts
Like our parents before us
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