SURROGATE MOTHER

Browsing among old photos from the
               family archives:
Faces sitting
On a beach, at weddings, you in the Twenties
             Hitting
Salls in abortive arcs at some local match,
             Love all about your eyes, unpeturbed about finesse.
You were for any father the finest catch,
  For any brood.  Gone now that laargesse
Of hearts you gathered, still on film depicted lives.

Giving was your greatest
             flaw:
Before
The Crash, the second
             War
Already surrogate mother -
             To your widowed father's seed,
Then to offspring of a sister, of a brother,
   And to theirs in turn and theirs - they made you need
A lifetime, sure

You were their own
             Captive hen:
Gratitude
Was rare or tardily concede
             Or viewed
A waste of time or
             Held to be superfluous.
Giving was your greatest flaw,
             Compunded by the meanness
Of the state.  And then

The growing-threadbare,
             Greying years
Taking
First your hearing then your healthy stride,
              Making
Making-do a part of what you never could.
             A mistake?  Too late now.  Next time
Round aim for advantage if not match - then being good
             is seeded lower than a crime,
And being warm and caring - who cares.             

                            © R.G. Bishop