Mother and Son

She shouted out, ‘I’m going to hell.’

the end was near, that they knew too well.

Contorted and tortured as she fought for breath;

Sons, granddaughters and sister witnessed her death.

Her last few years took her independence;

her resentment and anger-it was relentless.

Confined to her chair; often alone-

the carers were kind, but it wasn’t home.

Spiritual strongholds couldn’t be broken;

as she blamed her children, with words unspoken

We were not prepared for her last will and testament ;

naming only one son-two kids not mentioned.

The shock of it all was hard to take in,

as they sat and asked, ‘What have we done?

To be blotted out, like we never existed.’

He looked so smug, he had everything listed.

No memento, no message from their only mother;

the chasm made wider between sister and brother.

The anger faded, bewilderment set in-

why on earth would she do such a thing?

This black sheep was her golden child,

and he reaped the benefits all of his life.

He stole anything not nailed down;

giros, money and a half sovereign crown.

They grew up together, in the same home;

that’s where the seeds of deception were sown.

Yet she never faltered in her preference for him;

after two years of mourning, from me she’s forgiven


7 views1 comment

Recent Posts

See All

The demise of spaffer is a long haul; he doesn’t want to go at all. No longer in number ten, he can’t accept he’s a has been. Squatting at Chequers with all his pals, arranging titles to give them all

They’ll be here today, better get to work. Floors cleaned, beds made up; I can’t remember when I last worked so hard, for free-really, it not like me. Time to stop, have a cuppa, have a pee. The music

Hot June, hip Paris, hurrying and harassed, as we run to board the cramped and crushing metro carriage. And then, a voice from behind-‘Excuse me sir, but would you like to sit here? You look tired, an