Amy

Ask me what it’s like to help raise

My mother: you have to show her

You care for her, and give her praise.

Easy you say? Have you ever

Listened to grown-ups who can talk

Incessantly about things from

Zebra to alphabet, yet balk

At a question like, “Where’s my thumb?”

But you can’t blame them for trying

Ev’ry trick in the book to stop

The flow of thoughts which I’m sighing:

How? When? Who? Why? And where’s the top?

Before I can sneak a query

Under Mum’s conversing with Chris,

Nicely must I climb her weary

Knee and offer her a wet kiss;

Else I won’t get something to drink,

Regardless of what you might think.

(written in 1978)