She was a two-legged wall in the doorway
At a minute passed 9.

A whip of her tongue
And earthquakes shuddered the monkey bars
Where we hung like loose teeth.

Oh, we could see her bracelets,
Gleaming like the lips of pistols,
Like thunderous cymbals,
Clanging up and down her forearms.

We could feel her gaze,
A brutal spotlight
Surging from a heaven bent stratosphere
Like some omnipotent jet.

And the houses down the street
Dimmed into nothing but yellow eyes.

And the grass did not move.

“Y'all better get your little behinds home!”

It was not a good sign when she began to discuss backsides.

“You know what,
no, don’t even come home.
Don’t even come strolling on in here this late!”

It’s at that time when she tells you to not even do something,
That you absolutely must.

So, we stumbled home,
Our bicycles, dragging behind,
Shaking like the air conditioner in the top floor window.

The porch light blinked as she rumbled,
Ready to yank us, safe
Under the ceiling of her wrath.

And I could hear the sick harmonic of trembling,
The horrid gnashing of gold-capped teeth,
And the looming sentence
That was soon to burn over our tear ducts:

No TV for a week.

A two-legged wall,
My mother.