A Mother's Son

Some mother Under a dark blue spring night sky looks out her simple window, past the old curtains which she’s had since the kids came along... She’s washed all the little plates And counted One, Two, Three girls: all home Thank goodness! But her boy, where is he? He isn’t answering his phone Hasn’t been around much since he was fifteen She’s worried. Poor boy. Where is he? Hey, mother! Here is your son- He’s up to no good again Flipping the finger at white-collar job tired passengers who are going home by cable car He’s talking loudly about smashing this and that and and so and so While you hope he’s on his way home.