CATCHING THE FRUIT... (A tribute to my mum, who would have been 105 today...)

 Catching The Fruit…

(A tribute to my mum, who would have been 105 years old today…)

Right-angled triangle.

I was at ninety degrees.

Father left

And mother right,

Forming the diagonal.

Mum’s arthritis was

A debilitating disease.

Even-tempered visitor.

I was just the spectator.

Father peeled

And mother watched,

Framing the picture.

Dad’s impatience became

An unwilling waiter. 

Foul-tempered launchings.

I was rather dazed.

Father threw

And mother tensed,

Fencing the fruit.

Mum’s concentration keen,

The fine catching amazed.

Shock-faced onlooker.

I was intrigued, amused.

Father sliced

And mother swooped,

Finding the trajectory.

Dad’s dispersal harsh,

Mum’s strong medication bruised.

Firm-lipped reasoning.

I was surprised, incredulous.

Father submitted

That mother benefited,

Fuelling her reactions.

Mum’s ability honed,

Her skills quite miraculous…

Pete Ray…

My father would cut up slices of apple and orange and simply throw them across the lounge towards my arthritis-riddled mother, skin bruised and brittle from steroid medication. 

He reckoned this would keep her reactions sharp. 

Mum would catch virtually every piece thrown, probably to prevent dad’s wrath and criticism from 

upsetting her evenings…

Mum was born on May 9th, 1920…