My Mother
by Robert Mezey
My mother writes from Trenton,
a comedian to the bone
but underneath serious
and all heart. "Honey," she says,
"be a mensch and Mary too,
its no good, to worry, you
are doing the best you can
your Dad, and everyone
thinks you turned out very well
as long as you pay your bills
nobody can say a word
you can tell them, to drop dead
so save a dollar it cant
hurt—remember Frank you went
to high school with? he still lives
with his wife's mother, his wife
works, while he writes books and
did he ever sell a one,
four kids run around, naked
36 and he's never had,
you'll forgive my expression
even a pot to piss in
or a window to throw it,
such a smart boy he couldnt
read the footprints on the wall
honey you think you know all
the answers you don't, please, try,
to put some money away
believe me it wouldn't hurt,
artist, shmartist life's too short,
for that kind of, forgive me
horseshit, I know what you want,
better than you, all that counts
is to make a good living
and the best of everything
as Sholem Aleichem said,
he was a great writer did
you ever read his books dear,
you should make what he makes a year,
anyhow he says, some place
Poverty is no disgrace
but, it's no honor either
that's what I say,
love, Mother"
(The final two lines are progressively indented in the original. All other punctuation was followed closely.)
Part of the delicious humor here is unraveling the mother's meaning from what may or may not be the poet's spin on it. It's an enormous delight!
|