10-24-1993, Tom, Trent’s Dad

He sleeps all over the bed.
Diagonally.
Has music in his head, all the time.
Master craftsman.
Floor mechanic.

Sad, lonely day.
Trent didn’t even
want to get out of
bed to see you
this morning.
He said,
“Dad’s going to Austin.
He won’t let me go.”

We miss you
when you’re gone.

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Country Song or Blues or…..

I Can’t Sleep Again
or
My Husband is in Austin Blues
or
10 Pounds of Bat Guano in a 5 Pound Bag

My stomach:
A twisted knot of kimchee, jalapeno sauerkraut.
or
A playground for hyperactive butterflies.

My heart:
A black hole of isolation and despair.
or
A pincushion for railroad spikes.

My mind:
A bowl of mushy over-ripe banana pudding.
or
A blackened Cajun red snapper.

My spirit:
“MOM! I’m tired of going around in circles!”
“Shut up, or I’ll nail your other shoe to the floor.”
or
A dank, moldering cellar.

My world:
The bottom of a compost heap, crawling with worms and insects.
or
A package of crackers the kids used for a hockey puck.

Momma Friday Nights

Friday nights I used to go “out”.
Get dressed up, turn heads.

Now I’m a mom, Lani’s mom.
This Friday I’m selling
Girl Scout Cookies at Winn Dixie.

Get dressed, go out, turn heads?

Now I’m a mom, Trent’s mom.
Last Friday I went to bed
with a pile of picture books
and a clean, little, snuggle bunny.

Fem Fatale no more.

Now I’m a mom, Ian’s mom.
I look up to him and we argue about haircuts.
He wants one, and I love his curls.

Some Fridays we order pizza
and watch rented movies
a jumble of arms and legs
in, on and around the couch.

Love handles and thunder thighs.

Now that I’m a mom
and a new grand-mom (Welcome! Thomas)
I’m frumpy-dumpy
more cuddley comfortable
More T&A than a killer-red-dress type.

Friday nights I used to go “Out!”
Get dressed up and turn heads.

Since I’ve been a mom, Friday nights are sweeter.
Moms get tender peanut-butter kisses.
Moms get lovey-snuggle-hugs.
Moms get original art work for their refrigerators.

Momma Friday nights sure beat the heck
out of tight jeans and red high-heeled cowboy boots.

Zen Time

This is a zen sort of time-
Responsible only for me
No children to watch over and care for
I sort of drift in and out
of conscious thought

It’s a feeling—-watching—-feeling mode

I’m comfortable with my company

Off to bed

Saw a guy in Applebee’s that looked like Tom
A Kirby? I almost asked him.