POEM - Mother-in-Laws Are Weird

It wasn't an easy relationship

My mother-in-law and I

I made a bad first impression

And never tried too hard to change it

And with that we settled into our roles

She difficult and judgemental

I insolent and insufferable

And both of us cordial

For the sake of everyone else

Long enough play acting and a reality develops

And although I was always dirty and poor

I was reliable

I showed up when chores needed doing

And did the job right

Ran errands 

Helped at parties

Took out the trash

Made cute grandkids

And took care of her daughter

And in order to maintain 

My established designation

She would often pay for my labors

The worst though was holidays

Subjected to various corny events

As part of her pet project

To ensure the grandkids wouldn't suffer

Because of our perceived poverty

From Zoo Lights to The Nutcracker

We attended

Graciously

Thankfully

Privately nitpicking

For our own morbid pleasure

Some clumsily contrived gaudiness

Or amateur production value

As simpering sappy slop abounded

And we begrudgingly joined in

She has passed now

Several years back

And we had been away for the holidays

For many years before that

And I find

In spite of myself

I actually miss it

Miss the sappy shows

Grow inexplicably nostalgic 

For the manufactured happiness

Feel sorrow for my immaturity

And I long to be the bain

Of that crazy old bat's existence

Realizing

A little too late

She was trying

In her own kooky way

To make things just a little more special

To give joy in a way she felt she could

To say she loved us

That she didn't mind too much

That we were still hanging around

POEM - Not Private, Just Boring

It was hilarious
Not laugh-out-loud hilarious
But so odd
Catching me cross-ways
Out of left field
Perspective restructuring
Type of hilarious
That statement floating my way

"I know y'all are private people"

Huh, so that's the prevailing opinion
The vibe that's transmitting
The tenor and tone we radiate
A sketch
Construct
Classification

I get it

Private may be how it looks
Especially to certain circles
That overlap intermittently
In an awkward vin diagram
Of interconnected space
Where our general pension for silence
Intersects with their addiction to divulging
Regardless of the occasion
Ever tiny detail
And every ache and pain
Juicy tidbit
Randy scandal
Weather pattern
Car tip
Recipe
Driving direction
And life history
On queue
Triggered on our part
By any nod or noise
Intended or accidental

But it isn't privacy that drives the silence

Private is what people call it
When you don't do your part
To fill in the empty space
Posture unasked opinions
Relate personal histories
Engage in any discussion
Regardless of your involvement
And do it all with a smile
The smile is what does it
Makes it so they can see you

But rather it is something else

Any of a list of other characteristics
A litany of personally cherished traits
Of misunderstood flavors
Shy
Indifferent
Withdrawn
Introverted
Distracted
Polite
Trying not to be rude
Avoiding participation
Being a peacemaker
Or just refraining from it all
Because no one really asked
To take on my burdens
And I'm not looking to hand them over
And I'm sure they have their own to carry

"Well, not really private...
       Just sort of boring"

POEM - The Mold is Just an Excuse

It must be September
I think as the conversation veers once again
To my mother's favorite seasonal topic
"Do you still have my shortbread mold?
     You know, a lot of people say it just isn't Christmas
          Until they have my shortbread
               And I just don't see it anywhere...."

I returned it nearly a decade before
Made a big ceremony out of it
Made sure there were witnesses
Should have taken a photo
Maybe that's where I went wrong....

Of course she knew right where it was in April
She had just found it doing Spring cleaning
Probably why it is lost now
It is with the Easter decorations
Or maybe the Independence day ones
Or the sewing
     Or the laundry
         Or the old newspapers

It is just an excuse
To cover her nagging suspicion
Based on intrinsic evidence
That her cooking isn't what it once was
That age is catching up to her
And her old stand-byes
Are starting to desert her
Like her memories
Fading off and hiding away
Niggling the corners of her vision
Flashes here and there just to make it worse

"No mom, I returned it already
But I will check once again
Maybe when I visit I can bring you a new one."

She tells me not to bother
She will just keep looking
Besides the old one was seasoned just right
And it takes too long to get a new one proper
And butter is getting so expensive
Plus it is an awful lot of work
Probably just as well
     You never gave it back . . .

POEM - When

Constructing my dreams around big plans
And the list of detailed plans are filled with modifiers
Ifs and maybes and myriad bets hedged
Little safeguards
Against failure

But Jose' always says When
     When we go to Spain
          When we fly there all together
               When we eat at that restaurant
                 The one on the cliff
                   That overlooks the sea
                     The freshest seafood so delicious you will never believe it
                       It will be the best
                            When we go to Spain.....

Jose' speaks like the plans are set
Tickets bought
Reservations and routes locked in
All the bed linens are cleaned and pressed
Tucked in neat and tight
Waiting for me to rest my head
And breathe in the intoxicating Spanish air
And When leads the way
And other words grab on excitedly
Like they've lassoed a tidal wave
And anything is possible
If is left in the wake of When's tide
Crashing on Spanish shores
Or exploring the streets of Mexico
Or any of a thousand adventures
     When we are back in Mexico City
         When I get my place there, amigo
             When you bring your wife there
                  Then mi casa es su casa forever
                        When we drive to Acapulco
                              You will see the villas so perfectly placed
                                   Against the seaside so beautiful you could cry
                                        Bluest waters crashing on the shore like heaven is real

When you and I are brothers
When we rule the world
You will see amigo
I promise
Believe me

                   When...