Nadia Two

It’s around this time, your mother comes, always with a different cry, anyone can phone, say what they’ve done, but nothing catches her throat, a fertile ground of chimes, no hint of being glum, she counts the Dimes, doesn't come alone, wants to have some fun, always with some other crone, it’s you who needs to shine, pleading c’mon mum, shaking like a vine, it nourishes her bones, to beat her little drum, it disguises what she knows, every day is a whine, she won’t waste a crumb, says only fools wait in line, show her the tomb.