16 Jul 2016 – Sonnet
We watch my dear wife’s mother slowly fade.
A fighter all her life, these final rounds
not spent in quiet rest nor peaceful shade.
The blows fly fast yet none has knocked her down.
Some folks are not well-fitted to the rules
ofcookie-cutter culture. So her place
was in the home, or else in teaching school.
She should’ve been an engineer. Not lace,
but pouring concrete was her hearts delight.
A house rewired, cameras in her car
before the auto makers saw the light.
Born ten years early, who can say how far
she might have flown from that constructing nest?
She’s done her duty, fights, awaits her rest.