Notes About The Poem

I used to think my mother and I were very different, but the older I get, the more I think we were very alike.

On Getting Old

My mother played solitaire, 
Dozens of varieties, 
With a miniature deck of cards
That traveled with her
When she visited her children.
She lived with me, but
She couldn’t hear well
And smoked a LOT, so
She stayed in her room 
A great deal of the time. 
She smoked and played solitaire,
Sitting by the window
At her cluttered card table.
 
Now I play spider solitaire
on my computer in my room.
I live in a senior residence, so 
I don’t spend as much time 
At it as my mother did.
I can choose to play Bingo
Or other card games 
Like Bridge or Pitch
Or sing in a little chorus.
I can go on an occasional trip.
My hearing is okay with
The hearing aids and I don’t smoke!
My children come to see me
But they don’t have me underfoot.
I have the best of both worlds.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Sambourne Avatar
July 7, 2023 at 6:56 PM
Carry on dear lady. You are a survivor! Take advantage of all the senior's home has to offer. Cheers, Brian
Peckham Avatar
June 6, 2022 at 2:59 PM
Thanks for the comment. My mother and grandmother did our genealogy back to Charlemagne, I think, on about twenty different lines!
Leffanta Avatar
June 7, 2022 at 11:33 AM
But new records are being posted every day so you can firm up their accomplishment as well as add to it, e.g., findmypast.com ended yesterday a freebie to research British newspaper obituaries....Aloha!
Leffanta Avatar
June 6, 2022 at 10:54 AM
Do genealogy as it will occupy your mind and provide your offspring with known health risks! Aloha!
Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace