MOTHER'S DAY BLUE
Walking on Sandy Bay Beach
I felt this poem coming on
and those early morning sea and sky blues
but now I've got those Bessie Smith blues,
those deep from the depths of me blues,
and all I can think of
are your scrubbed thin
blue veined hands holding min,
or hitting my behind,
when I wouldn't mind blues
of those spring bouquets I gave you
with your tickled pink Mother's Day
special breakfast in bed
among the toast crumbs blues
of your glowing with pride
at my long-legged striding
over four years striving for my diploma
strung in a ribbon of blue blues
your mother of the bride dress was powder
and it was hard to match your shoes blue
and I recall our shared tears of happiness blues
I didn't tell you about the divorce
until it was over
so as not to prolong your pain and distress
at the terrible mess we made blues
you had those ulcerated veins
and skin-grafted sick in hospital
and not being your old self blues
the neighbors did your shopping
while I lived a thousand miles away
but I did phone on Sunday blues
I had a virus for the first time in years
and couldn't be at your side
when you died blues
it was a lovely dress of smoky blue
I bought for your last birthday
that we buried you in blues
you didn't see my girls grow to be women
and how they all had something of you blues
It was really those tourist poster blues
I thought I'd write a poem about today
but it turned out to be all about you blues.
Previously published in Famous Reporter, 2003.
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