What’s Her Name

When she was younger, strong and stern,

She raised me in punctuality, good manners,

And, God-fearing morality.

 

I remember one evening, when I was fifteen,

Excusing myself from the supper table, hair still combed and face washed clean;

I said I was going out for a walk, and, “was there anything she might need?”

 

I opened the front door, rushing without discreet,

I heard her holler, “be back before eight.

You have an hour of homework and I expect you, not to be late.”

 

Well… the time did fly and so did I,

When I heard the clock tower striking nine.

What have I been thinking, not paying attention to the time?

 

Hoping she was busy somewhere in the house;

Perhaps in the kitchen, or, in the bathroom undoing her hair,

Any place else but in the front hall in that familiar overstuffed chair.

 

Nope! No such luck. There she was, as I opened the door,

With a half-smile of melting stern

Asking me, “sooo… what’s her name?”

*Picture of my Mother 🙂

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