This poem expresses the timeless and never-ending worries that mothers have over their children’s wellbeing. This poem pivots around a graduation ceremony. It shows that milestone events and birthdays may come and go which signify a child getting that bit older or coming of age but a mother’s work is never done.
It is written by Marilyn L Taylor whom I have previously featured
I’d like to tell him something he should know
on this momentous day—his graduation.
I don’t think he’s going to like it, though.
He’ll claim he heard that sermon long ago,
why can’t I rid myself of my fixation,
quit mouthing things I think he ought to know?
He’s certain that I’ll tell him Take it slow.
Do all your messing up in moderation.
He’s right. And he won’t like it much. Although
he’ll like it better than the way I’ll go
mano a mano, some smooth variation
on all the things he doesn’t know I know—like where he hides his stash from Mexico
and other shortcuts to intoxication
beneath the basement stairs. He’ll deny it, though.
Still, I’ll avoid that burning down below,
exclude all references to fornication,
even small precautions. (Like he doesn’t know?)
And that’s my make-believe scenario,
my grand conclusion to his education:
I’ll tell him everything he needs to know.
He’ll barely listen. That won’t stop me, though.