My Mother, Lady of the Evening


Table top turns and the turn-over of another man
Tip-toed through the hall
As not to wake the children

She stands glorified under the doorframe
Open robe and breast exposed
And I watch her
As the goddess she is

Hoping men will love me like they do her
Hearing the pleasure and the smell
That seeps under my doorway
Dreaming of a mans hand on mine

And she laughs, no ring on her finger
For she is everyone’s
They have her as they will

“Whatcha think of that?” Her words echo
and I’m embarrassed I’ve been caught
the moonlight casting shadows
seemingly places to hide

but that glance
the hungry one she gives to them
when she plays Lady of the Evening
captivates me and I bow to the beckoned call
“You’re beautiful” is all I can manage