Fallout (Crank 3)

The fifteen-minute rant nets some

pertinent information. Mom’s fragile

life has shattered yet again. Ron beat

her up, possibly left a stash of meth

where the cops who came calling

could, or even would, find it. And now

it’s up to her, in a couple of weeks,

to try and convince a judge that she,

a proven liar and twice-convicted

felon, is, this time, completely innocent.

Best of luck, mother-of-mine. I don’t

believe you. Why should a judge?

BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT SHE WANTS

To hear. So I listen without commentary.

And, I guess, less sympathy than she,

for some stupid reason, expects.

Well? she finishes. Nothing to say?

Her supercilious tone irritates me.

“Sucks to be you,” is the best I can

do. What does she want from me?

How can you be so … so mean?

Now, somehow, it’s on me? My turn

to blow. “God, Mom, are you stupid

or what? Why don’t you move the fuck

away from there? Go somewhere

Ron can’t find you. Start over …

Get a real job. Take care of your kids.”

How would I do that? I don’t have—

“Don’t say it. Don’t say you don’t have

the resources. Grandma Marie would