The Old Mother

The mother of my BFF is old.
The woman’s age is pushing 95.
I’ve known her 60 years and, truth be told,
we can’t discover why she’s still alive.
It isn’t like she models how to strive
(in fact she never sought her level best,
a higher truth, an answer or a quest).
She lacks a sense of humor and she’s glib.
She’s quick to judge and selfish and repressed.
We think she left her passions in the crib.


This entry was posted in Aging, Personality, Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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