JPJohnoCasual Contributor
My Mother
‘octogenarians are sometimes broken’
in the pain of her brokenness
she subjectivity enjoys sharing
these stories of there life long friends
suffering on this his dying day
she does not ask him how he is, her son.
listening on the telephone this day before his birthday
instead she does her monologue with wild abandoned inflections of his death, there lifelong friend, at 81 years of age
she tells the son he’s always been a heavy drinker and didn’t look after himself
her sharp tongue of judging words, spew onwards, as the son in his silence keeps making there dinner.
on she goes, not drawing breath, until she realised he was not engaged in her story telling
the mother says ‘what’s all that noise in the background’.
the son replied ‘your on speaker, I’m cooking dinner’
with that response her spell is broken.
‘I’ll put your father on he wants to wish you a happy birthday for tomorrow’
