a poem by Michael Ashley

My Mother's Curtains

have hung almost as long
as I have been married,
tattered around the edges
stained by her forty-a-day habit

I tell her that they are worn
& she should replace them,
she brushes it off
retorting that there's plenty wear
left in them yet,
they keep the warmth in
& it's hard to get a well-fitting
pair just off the shelf,

predictably
after the second bottle of Chablis
our conversation turns
to my marriage,
she tells me
in that condescending tone,
how my spouse is no good for me
how she'll never have grandchildren
how it is never too late to turn

I brush it off,
knowing that when I next visit
her curtains will still be hanging
dirty
familiar
& almost impossible to replace.

© by Michael Ashley
 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #20 ~ March 2012