We’re on deck, Bob said,
when I told him about my mother--
how slow the step, how soft
the voice that had commanded
thirty fourth graders on the playground.
It was kind of him to ask.
I didn’t know his folks, but I went with him
to Mass when each passed. Me,
I’m no longer frightened to look
into the eyes of a ravaged face. If I’m lucky,
it will be me who nurses Janet,
And not her, me. Batter Up!
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Ron
Love ya!
Jane