HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

I think I like
driving best--
especially wet
etched gray days,
slick tears
against the windshield,
the slap of ribbons
of black rubber
& rhythms of tires
spitting pebbles,
cigarette pursed
between lips
listening to Uchida,
a Mozart sonata,
or Miles'
One For Daddy-O.
The grip
loosens,
humanity
fades.

Women escaped me.
No one more so
than Annie,
my mom: cold,
distant,
suffocating.
But she did
house me, & did
care for me
as only she could
before she lost
interest
& control;
and I want her
to know
I'm grateful
at least
for that.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016