Mothering a Grownup

I didn’t ask him if he got the job.
I knew he’d tell me when the news was good.
And if it wasn’t, then I wouldn’t rob
him of his cheerful mood. My mother would,
and she’d excuse her question. She would fob
it off as interest, as if motherhood
were pushy brusque intrusion, when in fact
it’s clear and present rooting, wrapped in tact.

(Ottava Rima)

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