Mother: an Original Poem

She still has a strong English accent

When she speaks French, but now

To her despair, she can’t even speak

English without making mistakes.

*

She hasn’t lost her French,

But she has lost her teeth,

And I can’t help but smile

When she tells me with a lisp,

*

‘You can’t even notice it, can you?’

Yes, mother, I can notice it,

You have grown old

And I can’t deny it.

*

There’s nothing less original

Than a poem about one’s mother,

All poets love their mothers

Otherwise they wouldn’t write poetry.

*

And yet I waited until you were

Almost eighty to write a poem about you,

Perhaps because you don’t like poetry

And even told me I should write in French.

*

Or perhaps because you’ve

Always been so close to perfection,

As you used to infer, when saying

‘Sorry, I’m not perfect’.

*

But perfection is boring,

And no one wants to read

A poem about a good mother

Who is loved by her son

*

And by all the people who meet her.

I am so unlucky:

How will I ever become a great poet

With such a perfect mother,

*

And such a perfect childhood?

Although you claim you do not like humour

And do not understand irony,

I’m sure you can understand this poem.

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About danielhszabo

I guess if I continue like this I'll be able to call myself a writer. For now I'm just an English literature and translation teacher in beautiful Brittany.
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