Copyright © 2011 -
Angela E Brooks
MumShe’s eighty-three, doesn’t know me
I’m her daughter – how does she not know me?
I’m there every day, cooking, cleaning,
Giving her her dinner and her tea
And still she doesn’t know me!
She’s making it up you know,
When others come she’s right on top.
Chatting away, holding court –
Joining in the joke that I’m the dope.
Then today I didn’t go.
I was tired and grumpy, though
I should have gone, no-one else does.
So I had a sleep, washed my face,
And got myself over to her place.
She was crying. Where’ve you been?
Where’s Fred? (her husband, my dad-long dead)
Where are my shoes? you’ve hidden them again
I couldn’t find them and I’ve missed the train.
On and on she went – while I cleaned her up.
She didn’t pause for breath, didn’t stop.
It’s alright Mum, I held her close
I’m here now, I’ll make some tea,
Come on, sit down. There now, shush.
We got there in the end, I know
She doesn’t know me – but I know her.
I’ll not leave her all day again
She’s eighty-four now,
And I’ve really had enough –
Thought I could do it forever, but it’s tough.
She’s fighting me now, thinks I’ve come to do her harm –
She bit me! Look at my arm!
I had to change her again – little accidents-
She laughs and runs from me when she needs a wash.
I catch her and am tempted to smack her legs,
Like she used to do to me,
When I was three.
We struggle on together, her and me,
I’m getting older, running out of patience more.
Today I slapped her – what’s happening to me?
She’s eighty-five now and barely alive
It was time for the Nursing Home, but
Her world is narrowed down to just one room.
The staff are very nice – or so they seem
But once – when I was leaving – I heard her scream.