Still Processing

Maybe I’ll never understand.










She could always tear my heart apart.
Mostly with unsubstantiated anger –
Followed by deliberately executed silence:
Coventry became my secondary home.

At eighty-something a heated argument mushroomed
In accepting blame without accepting anything
She excused herself with these immortal words,
“Ha! I’m way too old to change, now!”

Even then they were spat with venom,
Eyes expressed wide in open challenge.
There was no real point in retaliating:
I’d long before learned a son can never win.


© griffonner 2023
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critique and comments welcome.
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Love this vignette, Allen, so true and to the point. Only quibble is the use of “secondary” – I suggest using “second.”


Hmmmm. This makes me so glad my mum was, Mum.

A very strong poem – I know how it is, even wrote Unaccompanied – yes this war is lost.


To the point Allen, as those of us who have been there ourselves will recognise. Not forgetting Larkin’s famous lines – we can easily revisit that other country, where we will always be in the wrong – after all, she has our very birth as a weapon!

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