Abecedarian for TOP

She sits on the sofa
sometimes all day

and traces my movements
to and fro
through the tired afternoon

until the umbrella
of evening unsheathes
its shadow over us

and I’m verging on violence.
I love my mom
very much and treat
her as tenderly as my Nonie
took care of her African violets

but wearing away
by doing nothing
wears on my world.

So I offer her a glass
of wine and we play
a game of cards
which she wins

in exceptional excellence
and my xylophone whining
mellows out.

The soft yellow
of the dining room light
bathes us in butter
and instead of yelling
my frustrations at her

I laugh and enjoy
the buzz, the companionship,
and the zippity-doo-da
of being in mom zone.