Her name is Alyson, but I call Her
Momma, Mom, Ma,
(or Mother when I’m really freaked out).
Sure, She was a strict Momma when
we (sis and I) were young: not much
ice cream or candy
and She didn’t let us “run wild”
(if She could help it).
She was pretty brutal with our
heavy, candy-filled pillowcases
complete strangers’ homes;
homes we approached in the dark;
She’d take the candy and hide it
inspect every piece for evil,
and then put a well-inspected treat
in our sack lunch each day;
(two on Friday).
So you see,
I never had to stand in line and
the mythical and wart-faced
“lunch lady” who
people talk, laugh and sing
(like the sumptuous Chris Farley,
the one-time goddess of
Lunch Lady Land; or the
sloppy joe lady in Billy Madison).
Momma made our breakfast and
lunches every morning.
She made sure we had clean clothes,
made sure we were clean as well.
(and all this before She went
to work as a Secretary Mon-Fri.)
Even as a little boy I recognized
Her tedious schedule,
and knew the looting of the candy
For the straight teeth we still have
For our health
For our weight.
She’s an actual Mother, a real-deal
the toughest job in the world very
seriously and with a smile;
Who puts Her
friends and family first because
and She cherishes us more than
all the money and gold in this
And to you her name is Alyson,
but She’s still
the Looter of the Candy,
the Savior of our pretty teeth,
the Ear to my occasional spew.
*Poem by your Jogie, the picture is of:
Grace Slick, Pops, Momma, Alycia and Me
Happy Mother’s Day Momma
I love you to the moon and back and back….
….and it just keeps going…on and on, forever and ever….*