Mother taught me.

I learned about despair when

I smiled instead of weeping

as she’d sit blue as the

heavy pot belly stove,

overcome with a promise tinted

futility;

angry as God

between her affair with sweep and scrub.

Needing laughter

she’d think of a stronger arm,

but seeing me:

a holy devil protested,

decently attacking

thin floors

that spun

undefeatable yellow.

Thinking quiet in my toy,

I watched

looking cool 

for mother.