2000/mother

Watching the mother adjust the knobs
for her son’s head set in the bookstore,
I wish that I had been a better mother.
He wears pants I would call knickers –
just below the knees,
with straps to hold them up.
He bounces about then holds
the ear phone out for her to hear.

There is nothing to be done now,
I cannot go back and rewrite history.
Maybe I delude myself,
maybe if I had a child now
I would not do any better.
I still have trouble being
talked to in more than one ear.
I’m still not as cheerful as
those cheery soccer moms.
I remember sitting in the bleachers
at softball games.
Something about being there
made me uncomfortable.
The Volvos in the lot,
the things those women assumed,
that I was never able to assume.
Wouldn’t have assumed
even had they come my way.

My daughter had good
eye-hand coordination,
my boyfriend taught her to bat.
She has always been grateful for that.
We got through softball.
We got through Girl Scout camp-outs
with their endless lists that sent me
scavenging about town.
We got through the snooty neighborhood –
in my blue Vdub.
We got through.

1/5/00