It’s strange to sit here on this soggy bench
and watch my fishy-wiggling boys
romp below me in the swimming pool,
shrieking with joy.
I would have liked to savor waking up
today, drowse awhile in bed and then
maybe take a walk to smell the summer
morning linger in the grass.
Instead I piled the kids into the car
(Jon still dripping Frosted Mini-Wheats)
to go for groceries: cheese and diaper wipes
and ketchup, juice and milk.
The second potty break was what
made us late for swimming (some kind clerk
had found our cart in Produce and
put everything back).
So here I sit and watch the bobbing heads,
pondering the mid-point of my life.
Thirty-five years, and have I anything
at all to say?
At this age my mother had, although
She didn’t know, just seven years
Left—where is she now? And does she watch
my bobbing head?