The Firecracker

The Firecracker-10/02/14

Thursday 1:51pm EST

The clock stands still

at 2 O’Clock.

I feel the crispness of the Fan.

As I silently wait for her.

The one who buys groceries,

in her sixty-ish skin,

fraile yet forever,

frisky.

 

She’ll carry all of them,

in by herself-

if I don’t wait to greet her.

 

Her-She-She is,

the One

with Ab-fib,

history of heart attacks, high blood pressure,

diabetes type 2 and even more…

 

But despite all of that,

She’s a Spitfire.

Do not Ever,

underestimate her.

 

She’s stubborn,

like a shotgun.

She is solid like granite,

although she bears a few

cracks.

 

The clock stands still

at 2 O’Clock.

I feel the cool crispness

of the Fan.

 

And I plan

to remain here,

sitting silently

waiting,

 

for my husband’s Mother,

to come bursting through

the front door

like a firecracker.

 

(sidenote: just 2 hrs after I wrote this poem, I caught her outside attempting to mow our lawn. I yelled to her She shouldn’t do that that She knows she is not supposed too. Ignoring me, She did the 1/3 of the backyard she could manage and came inside for a nap. When I complained to my husband he just laughed at me….)

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