Remote Control (Poetry)

Mother — you’re long-dead to me
but I’m not lost to you —
you nag so restless in the night
your echoes struggle through
you pick at thoughts
you niggle dreams
you nudge and poke and pry
inside my head you worry on
the link just will not die

I try to turn your station off —
that brooding radio
a constant soundtrack to the dark
let’s-freak-the-daughter show

I close my ears
I close my mind
yet still you wheedle in
for there are cracks —
my walls are worn
my house is crumbling ...

I draw my mental curtains tight
I lock and bolt my doors
but it’s no use for genes undo —
my voice drowned out by yours