Just let me be a poet, mom.
I’ll write a few about Lake Squam.
You’ll be proud one day I hope.
Sorry. I am such a dope.
I’ve toughened up my Buddha abs
to fend your not-so-subtle jabs.
The way you died just broke my heart.
You put the hearse before the cart.
I was born to a broken heart.
My brother dead, you fell apart.
He would have suffered all his life
so you were glad you said one night.
Aren’t you glad I cleared this up
in time to drain this bitter cup?
So I no longer live in fear
that suddenly I’ll disappear.