In Which Some Tables Are Slightly Turned

A friend sold Dad his pickup; so began

A fine scenario nobody meant

To generate, but now this bustling man

Is getting just a taste of how we've spent

The years with him. A big truck, blank and white

Looks like all of the other pickups parked

All 'round the busy stores. This is a slight

And satisfying irony it's sparked:

Now he can't find it either, sometimes. He

Has trouble, too, betimes, with the seat belt,

Not unlike what his wife has often; she

Has lev'rage trouble spooling it out, felt

Quite stupid often as he sighed in wait.

In this, at last, my Mom has found her mate.