Motherly love

12-11-2003

Dear diary,

 

Why is it that always he

In her head comes before me?

Is it his charm or simple wit

That takes from me? the little git!

I need to see my GP

Because I wake in my own wee

In my sleep my bladder goes

I don’t feel it through my clothes

Until the sun makes an appearance

I don’t feel the interference

Of stripping the bed to its core

Like I’m a baby once more.

This morning was the worst of many

Tomorrow, we leave for county Kerry

To a funeral of his ex’s father

A doctors visit I would rather

Especially with a red warning in place

Going at all is a disgrace

But not us, we are family,

It goes her, then him, then me!

Scornful it may sound to most

But I need to be diagnosed

As to why I pee at night

Now do you see my plight?

But down to Kerry we will go

It's all a big fiasco

To keep him happy knowing that

He comforted that little twat

On the day he buries his dad

Nonsense, but ironclad

I’ve tried to make her see the map

Of storm Debi, to her its crap

‘Met Eireann’s been wrong before!’

Boy it rattles me to the core

Knowing I need a GP

She’d rather me wake up in my wee

Just to drive over six hours

Through the high winds and the showers

Trees will be down on the road

All because that little toad

Lives in the country deep

My brother's heart he had to keep

But he tore it out and then

Stomped on it knowing when

He had found someone more exciting

Even though they weren’t fighting!

He’s just a turd, a bollox, a dick,

Who broke his heart with just one click

Making him have to move home

Months went by and still he moaned

Missing his ex until he heard

He got a house and a bird

Commitment he could never get

Out of this bloke and yet

We’re going to Kerry tomorrow

A plastic bag and towel I borrow

So, I won’t have to change

My bedsheets and exchange

Them for dry ones for a night

Moms' loyalty off, am I right?

The doctor is where we should go

But he comes first, the answer no

Still awake way past the hour

I should sleep, instead I cower

Trying to stay awake and dry

I have to write, I have to try

To make sense of her choice

I never seem to get a voice

But if they leave tomorrow at eight

I’ll be there, I won’t be late

Rather to die with them or

Become the sole benefactor

Of the house that’s our inheritance

Without them, no need for existence

That’s why I’m writing to you diary

Please help me make sense of my anxiety

Make us safe upon the road

And get me to the loo before I explode

For a shower I’ll have no time

In the morning pending I’m

Wet again, needing treatment

Being dry would be an achievement!