Oh Brother! Thou Art A Bother!
You I have loved and watched over
Since about the time I turned three years of age
Are a worry to me know as we both age.
I worry about your health
While you worry about losing your hair,
And your youth, and your money.
I worry about your ability to keep working
To pay your singular way in the world
As you try to keep it all "juggled and afloat".
I know that I cannot take your troubles from you
And place them on my own full plate,
And you would never allow this to take place.
Why could you not stay a sweet, happy, little boy
And why could I not retain my great energy of old?
Then, I could just shake my head and laugh at you!
You art a bother, yes you certainly are.
But, at the end of these days I am glad for this:
You art my brother, dear and beloved all these years.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
The Room at the House of Pies
This morning as I sat across from my spouse breakfasting
In the front room at the House of Pies where oft we eat,
Two tables behind my love caught my eyes and ears.
So I sat there and shamelessly - eavesdropped.
At one booth, sat two diners seated on just one side,
A caring mother and her grown daughter.
First one would caress then the other
Would lovingly touch back.
Daughter chortled on happily about her girl-roomies,
And a boy-roomie who had irritated all of them.
He had summarily been advised of his terrible
Transgressions against the whole gender, and moved out.
Then mother spoke of her next visit to daughter.
And when they left, mother was embraced as they walked.
Cherished, was what came to my mind.
Their feelings were mutually alive and well.
At the other table a young mother and her toddler
Sat across the booth from the young mother's - parents possibly.
These parents, both stiff, seeming to express disdain,
Held themselves awkwardly taut and distant. No love shown here.
The parents possibly grandparents seemed to say,
"We are fragile, uncomfortable, and scared of life."
Their hearts seemed to lack warmth, their tongues chimed a sad mimicry.
They really could not love a young mother and child.
This morning as I sat across from my spouse breakfasting
In the front room at the House of Pies where oft we eat,
Two tables behind my love caught my eyes and ears.
So I sat there and shamelessly - eavesdropped.
At one booth, sat two diners seated on just one side,
A caring mother and her grown daughter.
First one would caress then the other
Would lovingly touch back.
Daughter chortled on happily about her girl-roomies,
And a boy-roomie who had irritated all of them.
He had summarily been advised of his terrible
Transgressions against the whole gender, and moved out.
Then mother spoke of her next visit to daughter.
And when they left, mother was embraced as they walked.
Cherished, was what came to my mind.
Their feelings were mutually alive and well.
At the other table a young mother and her toddler
Sat across the booth from the young mother's - parents possibly.
These parents, both stiff, seeming to express disdain,
Held themselves awkwardly taut and distant. No love shown here.
The parents possibly grandparents seemed to say,
"We are fragile, uncomfortable, and scared of life."
Their hearts seemed to lack warmth, their tongues chimed a sad mimicry.
They really could not love a young mother and child.
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