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.