This is definitely not a judgment. But I can’t help reflecting on how we always assume that someone else’s situation can never be ours someday, even if it’s that of our own parents.
When there were twelve of us and just one of you
You took it in your stride and shared what you had to give us, equally
It’s fifty years later
We’re still twelve and there’s still only one of you
But you’re an inconvenience we’re trying to skirt around
We’re trying to deal with you as delicately as possible
But we’d really rather not have to deal with you…well…all the time at least
We’re immortal, invincible
We firmly believe that the truth of who you are now, an uncomfortable issue, is an unreal possibility for us
- Inspired by a conversation with a service provider whose chattiness appeared to be a mask for the sadness she felt for her mother.
Comentários