My mother is getting worse. I want her to be perfect forever. My grandmother died at 99 and I told my mother that she owes me 9 more years. She said...."Please don't make me!" It is not my call. Thank God she still has her mind and thus this poem.
A SMASHED TOMATO
Like a smashed tomato, so true
Sqooshy red eyes and a nose full of goo.
This is my pity party and I’m not inviting you.
Frustrated, infuriated, I know the reason why.
Unbidden grief engulfs my soul
All I do is cry
Sorry not returning calls; busy drying my eyes
Forgive my self-indulgence - guess it was no surprise.
I have not been myself these days. Please let me make amends.
I love you lots, you know I do !
Hope we still are friends!
Alice (4 oct 2010)