Crazy at 90

You little lush,

with your mouth full of vinegar for everyone.

You were a seer with a paintbrush,

an emotional con artist with a smile,

a woman with a man,

a firebrand with an agenda,

a mom with two sons.


Both know what’s best for her,

from opposite sides of the world.

Good luck to them.

She’ll do what she wants, and

screw the devil, the sons,

and especially the daughters-in-law.


Who doesn’t look back and think:
Why did I…? Why didn’t I…?
Now that you’re gone I ponder
and whether I should have. Or could have.
Maybe it was survival, maybe it was spite,
or confusion, or craving for simple love and peace
that made me swing the axe and cleave the cord.
I felt it round my neck always
and always struggled to breathe,
clawing, and running,
but though I swung the axe, the cord trailed and clung,
like a snake
slithered from its basket;
like a rootless vine,
brittle, unbending, and never breaking;
like a tow rope,
always dragging a suffocating weight.
I swung the axe but got no peace.
Now that you’re gone,
I wonder
if peace will have me now.