Mama

Visited mama this past weekend, just for the hell of it.  She cooked the whole time I was there, well, cooked and fed me.  Come taste this, come taste this again . . . by the time the meal was ready I'd tasted so much it was all I could do to finish my plate.  And each time I tasted she'd hold the spoon or fork up to my mouth, cup her hand underneath and feed me.  Then she'd dab my mouth with a napkin.  After eating she'd insisted that I take a nap so I wouldn't be tired on the drive back.  So I'd stretched out on the couch with my head in her lap and she'd massaged my head and I'd fallen asleep.  When I'd woken up she was in the kitchen, wanting me to taste something, a light snack for the drive back.  That's a mama for you, well, at least that's mine.  Still treats me like a child.  I never protest.  Yes, ma'am, yes, mama.  Grown man or child, always please mama.