Mrs Mum Poem by Jerry Pike

Mrs Mum

I have a name attached,
not in clothes,
or on labelled gestures,
but the stamp of biological parents.
Call out, I’ll come, Pavlov’s echo
screeching through my wild streets
on Capone’s tyres.

Where are those soft shoulders of my youth,
the kind eyes whose motion forgave,
and sold love in a blue blink?

But no one sees now, feels now,
you’re there, wandering a landing strip alone,
hearing the planes,
but nothing lands.

Perhaps if I got a tattoo,
played it tough
and buckled down,
I’d be excused
some tears at bedtime?

Night, night forever
Mrs Mum
Loved ya!
x