Good Old Days

My mother isn’t wearing her hearing aids these days.
So her TV, on the floor above me,
at the opposite end of the house,
keeps getting louder.

Hallmark I don’t mind (so much)
Although please can’t there be a leading lady
who doesn’t have a gratingly perky young voice?

CNN and MSNBC, well OK,
often a bit strident for my taste
and always on for too many hours
but liveable, ignorable
In the good ole days
of February

But now
Now when I am home, always home
Everything cancelled, no visitors
Just home
There is He Whom I Never Name
Doing press conferences
(Mess conferences, I call them)
Every day
With bits and pieces replayed all day

(My mother doesn’t go to bed until midnight
And she is usually up by 8.)

She is 95, my mom, housebound right now
And I have a no visitors rule
So it is a bit much, I feel
To also ask her to turn off her TV
Her lifeline to a world
She is no longer really part of.

But then there are the dinnertime rants
Because she hates him
He Whom I Never Name
And whom she often calls Truman

(She calls Roosevelt “my president”
She was 9 years old when he was first elected
and 21 when he died.
She seems to hold Truman responsible
for his death.)

Earplugs are uncomfortable.
Spring is beautiful but hay fever
So no working outside on the deck

His voice, his voice
grates worse than Hallmark’s
perky young things.

His lies, his lies
bring more tears than spring’s
flowering trees

His rants, his rants
cause more dinnertime rants
from mom

She can no longer keep names straight
Or facts
Most of her sentences wander
And twist
Rise and fall
Never end with a period

But she crochets while she watches
And she makes face masks
Her grandchildren adore her
Her great grandchildren think
She may have known Moses

Beneath my frustrations
My social isolation
His mess conferences
Spring’s hay fever sneezes
Her dinnertime rants
Beneath those frustrations
I wonder

Will these soon be the good ole days?

One thought on “Good Old Days

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