My Mother, Al, and Me

My Mother, Al, and Me

“Sit down for a minute, let’s get something straight.
Turn off your Boombox, the CD will wait.”
“Mom, you know it’s an I-POD, not a boom-box.
There’s no CD, and my music really rocks!

“Your music ain’t bad; this is about your room.
It’s so filthy and grimy, smells like a tomb!”
“Oh Mom, you’re lecturing me in short-shorts like that?
Your bottom’s hanging out and it looks kinda flat.”

“Don’t try changing the subject young man!” she said.
Mad as a hatter, she threw a pillow at my head.
No telling what else may have happened just then,
I was saved by the doorbell as it rang again.

Before she could throw more, I answered the door.
As I went to open it, she screamed and swore,
“Don’t you open that!  Can’t you see what I’m wearing?”
But I couldn’t hear her, my I-POD was blaring.

At the door stood Al, my best friend forever.
Suddenly his eyes grew large, he said, “Well I never!”
I turned to see just what it was that he saw,
My mother was behind me covering her bra!

“That’s the last straw, I’ll not be ogled like that!
Both of you leave, you’re nothing but brats!”
Saying that, she grabbed for something to throw at me.
What she grabbed was small, wouldn’t hurt a flea.

It flew past my head and bounced off the wall,
Then skittered like an animal right down the hall.
It’s amazing the damage a toothbrush can do.
It broke into pieces, some landed in my shoe.

The egg timer rang, at least I thought that was it,
Then I rolled over in bed and tried to sit.
I reached for the alarm to turn it off,
My head pounding, a hangover, it hurt to cough.

I thought of my dream, and what it might mean.
My friend Al, my mother, the whole dream scene.
But I’d not seen either in so many years,
One can’t see ghosts, and my eyes filled with tears.

Jim Dorrell
1/23/13