MOTHER'S GAMES

Although Mom can't recall the day
The Scrabble game she can still play.
She says she doesn't care who wins
But tries; and when she does she grins.
She laughs out loud and slaps her thigh.
For my sake then she wonders why.
"It's unbelievable but true,
My tiles were best so I beat you."

With solitaire we end the night.
Mom clicks and drags; it is a sight
To see her move the cards around.
For this game too her mind is sound.
She battles it with all her wits.
Though she might lose she never quits.
She starts again without my aid
And plays until the cards cascade.

Mom plays her games the way she lives.
Her most to every day she gives.
With both it matters not the score,
She greets each one with "Please, once more!"

MOTHER'S DREAM
MOTHER'S HOPE
MOTHER'S LEAVING
MOTHER'S MARKET MEMORY
MOTHER'S MEMORIAL BENCH
MOTHER'S SAD ATTACK
MOTHER'S WAR
MOTHER'S WAKE

Comments

[Gloria Jeanne Lise]

Why is it that we have all fallen so in love with your mother, Doug?
The words in your poem,
the love games that she plays,
". . . My tiles were best so I beat you,"
the sparkle in her eye,
the flowers in her garden path,
her path?
We could go on.

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I do. Doug.E.Barr