Clean as a meat face floor
#1
She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered that while everyone was running around on it. 
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.
 
We would always wonder where the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor, making for respite.  
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.  
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.
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#2
(05-18-2021, 12:19 PM)tmanzano Wrote:  She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered that while everyone was running around on it. 
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.
 
We would always wonder were the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor, making for respite.  
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.  
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.

Such a good piece! Wow! I also find this line to be really imagistic. 

All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.

Really nice line here. It plays in my head. I don't exactly have anything else to say, it seems fine. Thanks for sharing.
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#3
(05-18-2021, 02:50 PM)Majestic Sun Wrote:  
(05-18-2021, 12:19 PM)tmanzano Wrote:  She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered that while everyone was running around on it. 
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.
 
We would always wonder were the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor, making for respite.  
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.  
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.
Such a good piece! Wow! I also find this line to be really imagistic. 

All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.

Really nice line here. It plays in my head. I don't exactly have anything else to say, it seems fine. Thanks for sharing.
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#4
(05-18-2021, 12:19 PM)tmanzano Wrote:  She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered about that* 
while everyone was running around on them
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.                                   maybe merge the line I crossed out with this line
 
We would always wonder where the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor,          best line in the poem, very memorable
making for respite.* 
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,                  under?
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.                             I don't think line this adds much to poem
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.

Not crazy about the title, but enjoyed the poem.  I noted a few changes, mostly just a change in a few line breaks noted with * and some word changes.  I kind of wanted shorter lines, more line breaks.  But that may just be a personal preference.  

I think it would improve the poem to go into more description of the explosion (I'm vague about locale).  You wouldn't blow up a trashcan in the house, so how did you get from there to the inside of the house?
“All persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.”  Kurt Vonnegut
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#5
(05-18-2021, 08:52 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote:  
(05-18-2021, 12:19 PM)tmanzano Wrote:  She would get upset about dirty floors.
I wondered about that* 
while everyone was running around on them
 
My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.
 
…and here he is, bleeding all over it.
 
There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,
and I was only interested in large towels. 
 
My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears
while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. 
 
Fourth of July was always something special at my house.
All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.
 
My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth
and didn’t disappoint this time.
 
The explosion was something to be seen
with unprecedented height.                                   maybe merge the line I crossed out with this line
 
We would always wonder where the ambulances and firetrucks would go,
chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.
 
Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,
their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor,          best line in the poem, very memorable
making for respite.* 
 
A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,                  under?
sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come. 
 
I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. 
It is all I could think about, but never felt.                             I don't think line this adds much to poem
 
Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.
Towels, towels, towels!
 
I have never stopped scrubbing.

Not crazy about the title, but enjoyed the poem.  I noted a few changes, mostly just a change in a few line breaks noted with * and some word changes.  I kind of wanted shorter lines, more line breaks.  But that may just be a personal preference.  

I think it would improve the poem to go into more description of the explosion (I'm vague about locale).  You wouldn't blow up a trashcan in the house, so how did you get from there to the inside of the house?

Absolutely great suggestions and comments here. Exactly what I needed. I see many points you are making with strong interpretations. 

Thank you very much. Now to let it set a bit and revisit later.
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#6
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]She would get upset about dirty floors.                                                      The line fixes a description and leaves the relationship to the author                                                                                                                               as the fundamental litmus test of the poems success, this may or may not be an intriguing quality of character: the subject's preoccupation with dirty floors, and the ensuing and presumable allegory which this idiocincracy presupposes                   [/font]

[font=Calibri, sans-serif]I wondered that while everyone was running around on it.                 [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]My mom would always yell at us if we tracked in the outside.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]…and here he is, bleeding all over it.                                                                   success: the internal blood is shed to prove the irony of the mother's seeming shallow [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]There was a lot of yelling going on, everyone kind of freaking out,[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]and I was only interested in large towels.                                                               the practicality of your judgement in this memory is what                                                                                                      gives                                                   you the authority to write the poem[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]My brother had his hands on the sides of his face covering his ears[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]while my aunt was holding my stepfathers face together with a grimace. [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]Fourth of July was always something special at my house.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]All the kids would come down and see us blow a trash can up in the air.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]My stepdad always had those M80’s on the fourth[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]and didn’t disappoint this time.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]The explosion was something to be seen[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]with unprecedented height.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]We would always wonder where the ambulances and firetrucks would go,           The linkage of the preceding two stanzas with this one are, unfortunately, disjointed and temporally unsatisfactory, the chronological exchange of time memory with the incidental account is counter-intuitive and troublesome ----- you have not demonstrated why you chose the reflective mood after revealing the particulars of the moment [/font]

[font=Calibri, sans-serif]chasing them on our bikes as fast as we could.                                                           [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]Now they’re at my house and like gods storming out,[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]their yellow suits and boots slipping around on my mom’s floor, making for respite.   Here is the linkage which shows how your memory of overlapping fireworks memories coalesces with your keen sense of ironic judgement: why did she marry a man who would bleed so ridiculously over her cherished floors?[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]A frenetic dance under pieces of us on the floor,[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]sticky, in need of addressing in the years to come.                                  this is a fascinating line of poetry, an unresolved thought, which shows in the next stanza your sense of reservation and uncertainty given the difficulty of living under the roof of a difficult and foreign marriage[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]I was talked about, and to, for weeks, years. [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]It is all I could think about, but never felt.  [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]Dirty floors, blood, firemen, and large towels.[/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]Towels, towels, towels![/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif] [/font]
[font=Calibri, sans-serif]I have never stopped scrubbing.                                         Cut in the mold of your mother, with the inheritance of her own prejudices and predilections: the poem does not seem to arrive at a total rejection or indictment of step - fathers, yet it does show the inevitability of the mess which manifests from the loss of the ideal and the assymetry which arises from broken unions[/font]
plutocratic polyphonous pandering 
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