go to bed

your mother
who bore seven
children in ten
years
was a machine
with pistons for arms
hanging
wet clothes
to the line on
steel legs,
her laser eyes
could find
anything hidden
or lost.
she could chase
you down
like a fox
on a rabbit.
she knew what
you were thinking
before you
the words
came tumbling
out of your
wise guy mouth.
don't even say
it, she'd say, or
it's the soap.
you remember
asking if you could
feel her muscles,
and she would flex
her arms like
rosie the riveter.
don't mess with me
she'd say,
pick up your clothes,
brush your
teeth go to bed
and pray.