A Memorial

Disorderly, His confusion organized, Grotesquely haphazard. She never stopped complaining, Harping him to distraction. Even now, he had to search For a miserable hammer. Cellar dark, Hands outstretched, Light switch elusive, He hit his head, Against a beam. Till he found That for which he needed. He hung her portrait Smack in the middle Of a bare wall, Above her beloved dresser, An antique piece which he abhorred. He bought a lamp And vowed it would be lit Below the face That looked at him From high above, Imploring urgently, Almost begging him To do better. He took up the hammer again He fixed the small bronze plaque As level as he only knew how And read the words there written: "My beloved Mother". He smiled.