Sunday Chat

I listened on the phone
while my mother wandered
through the conversation
like an axe murderer out on
a sunday stroll. The axe swinging
at her side, dripping from the blood
of previous calls. The heavy
lifting was done earlier
by my sisters. I was there for
the final chat of the day. She
had a lot on her mind. The lack
of affection and generosity
of her husband, children
who didn't visit enough, me,
animals, specifically the mangy dogs
that barked all night long
next door People not of her ilk.
There seemed to be alot
bothering her at this stage of life,
at this age of eighty. I listened.
I got up and made popcorn, fixed
a ginger ale with ice, I sat down and
listened some more. It was early.