the nut of the matter

your mother calls
beating around
the bush. angling
for something. you
can just sense it.
you go through
the litany of gossip
and illnesses.
which flowers are
blooming, which aren't.
deaths and misfortunes
of all that she
knows, or proposes
to know. she throws
in that sometimes
she feels like she only
has a week to live
at best, then you
get to the nut
of the matter.
sunday dinner. can
you come, I made
beef stew. and oh
by the way. can you
help move the freezer
from the basement
out to the driveway,
where we can load
it into your truck
and then drive
it to your sister's
house, the one you
don't get along with,
in waldorf Maryland?
the line suddenly
goes garbled.