Mamas Mad at Me
I ducked back in the house just now chastened.
Mama bird is feeding a nest of hungry kids
Hungry yellow mouths that pop wide open
Every time I bump the planter where the nest is hid.
She has the right I guess. It's hard enough
To feed four hungry mouths reaching, chirping
The kind of desperation to their calls that make
A mama bird feel guilty; like she's shirking.
I ducked back out of the house just now, further chastened.
Mama's doing her best to clean up the place behind me
The trails of dirt and crumbs and grease I leave behind
Everywhere I go like some aged child with ADD.
She has the right I guess. The house is hers
Ceded long ago to her skill at cleaning and hard working
But as sore bones and failing back slow Mama down,
She feels guilty too like Mama bird, as if she's shirking.
Poor mamas, I knew this day would come, as I got older,
That I would become this decaying crumbling antique
Making messes, shedding hair and worse all over.
Too brittle-boned; too tired to care to clean things till they squeak.
Someday soon, I know I'll be more trouble than I'm worth.
A creepy older guy that smells like liniment and cabbage leaf.
My sense of humor gone along with taste and style and left to be.
Put out to pasture by the kids to give their mom relief.
But I don't really mind. I'm resilient and easily amused. I take
Long walks that free my mind from all that angers or depresses
And the Mamas both on one thing fervently agree – That
When I'm away from home, at least I can't cause guilt or further messes.
© 2014 by Tom King