A soft warm peach-coloured blanket
and socks and cloths with a sewing
kit to attach the buttons my pink top
sheds at an alarming rate - clearly
they who made it thought with sadistic
satisfaction of the wearer walking in a
button shower where-ever she goes;
it includes a tin in which to keep the
sewing kit as it always disappears -
Freudian slips showing I hate sewing,
hiding it from myself; given the pretty
polka-dot tin I might be able
to override this - and thus lunch was
spent profitably - now to pull out my
spending teeth, get ready for mom’s
80th birthday in April
She’s already writing and presenting
an Easter play and she loves doing it,
the old-age home’s acoustic chapel is
available for her music and song with
An orchestra in wheelchairs to shake
home-made instruments; a card and
champagne might be all I can add to
her delight at this stage…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem