She worries about him.

She has always worried about him.

As a new mum she feared he would become sick.

Every feed she worried he'd not taken enough.

Every unexpected cry signalled a raised heart rate.

Hers that is, not his.

When he learned to walk she watched in terror

He'd tumble and fall, break a limb.

Child protection would call, say she didn't care.

Neither happened, but still she worried.

In kindergarten the other kids were bigger, stronger.

Or so it seemed to her.

They'd take his toys, bite and scratch,

Have some disease he's bound to catch.

Later, in school, rough games brought new fears

Of broken limbs and blackened eyes.

She wanted him to pay attention, learn his lessons

Do his homework, pass exams.

She fretted that he never would succeed at anything.

Girls were the next source of anxiety.

He'd fall for one beneath his station

Take her dancing, have 'relations'

End his chances in high society.

Now she's old and he's a father.

She still worries. Is her grand child

Properly cared for? Feeding well,

Not sickly, weak or too advent'rous?

Dangers lurk in every corner.

Does he not share her worries?

A parent's lot is such a hard one

She'll go to her grave still

Worrying about him.

* * * * *

She's such a worrier.

I wish she'd let me be!

From the moment I was born, it seems,

She's imprisoned me in cotton wool.

It didn't take me long to work it out.

In her sight I'd be so careful.

Behind her back be wild and willful.

Playing rough with older boys,

Smoking spliffs and necking spirits,

Chasing girls, the kind that liked it,

Let me catch them, kiss and fondle.

One caught my eye.

I courted her in secret

Until at last I introduced her.

“You're such a fool, you should know better.

You're much too young,

She'll steal your life if you should let her.”

She worries now about my daughter.

Thinks we don't know how to treat her.

Fusses over every wimper.

Makes me feel it's me's the infant.

To be a son is not so easy

When your mother's such a worrier.