My Mother Likes Men


My mother likes men who drive up 

in trucks, pull out their tools, patch 


things up. Fond of the plumber (bald,

like Yul Brynner), she coaxes him, after


he tends a leak, to lie down and grope 

for a fallen chimney piece. Hitch ‘er


back. Mom enjoys entertaining 

the Fuller Brush fellow with his bristles 


and combs. Once he hands me a foiled 

cream. (I tuck it in a pocket dream.) 


My mother likes kids (she has six) 

and her husband (bald, like the plumber). 


We children give Dad a wide berth. He 

lost his own young. Not sure exactly how—


but that affected him. He taught himself

physics, Latin, math and is better off


at his chemistry lab while Mom keeps

the ménage upright, oiled, filtered, humming


with the help of men who drive up in trucks, 

clap their doors, stroll up, knock.