please, stop

my mother, in her fifties, once
began a conversation
about her needs, and by her
needs, i mean
her needs
in an intimate way.
she had recently remarried
a man, who for lack
of a better description
would give Hitler
a run for his money
in the evil department.
he's not a loving man,
she said, we hardly ever...
stop, I told her.
I don't want to hear
anything about this.
I don't want to
have that image in my mind
please, mom.
in fact, let's pretend
this never subject came up.
let's talk about you baking
a cake,
or decorating the Christmas
tree, or
knitting a pair of booties
for one of your
grand kids. in fact, i'd
love to have your
recipe for pot roast, i'll
hold while you get it.