Wednesday, May 5, 2010

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.

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