It’s Doc Mehl’s weekly feature: TUESDAYS WITH GARTH! When I first gave Garth Brooks permission to perform my poems on stage… I maybe didn’t realize that it would strengthen our bond of brotherhood. I love you, man. These photos show Garth and me both performing… “My Mother is Dysfunctional.” (It’s a metaphor, Garth… don’t worry, our mothers will understand.)
My Mother is Dysfunctional
Copyright 10-2015 Al “Doc” Mehl
My Mother is dysfunctional; she’s fickle; she’s neurotic;
She’s anxious, co-dependent, she is borderline psychotic.
I’ve come to know her foibles and her eccentricities;
I’ve come to view her mood swings like dystonic harmonies.
And though she is my mother… I don’t mean to seem unkind,
But best you hunker down when mom commences to unwind.
Some days, mom’s like a tempest, blows a howling deaf’ning fright;
Yet other times she’s deathly still, a silence in the night.
She’s cold as cold can be when she’s a mind to leave you shivering.
Then turns “chinook,” a warmth that makes you question who’s delivering.
She’ll flash a raging torrent when you least expect her wrath,
Then turn around, and soft as dew, she’ll ornament your path.
At times she’s gentle sunshine on a clear blue autumn sky;
Then blink your eyes, she’s scorching heat on soil that’s parched and dry.
A mom should be predictable. But this mom? You will find…
She’s back and forth; she’s hot and cold; she can’t make up her mind.
My father, on the other hand: predictable; methodic;
Dad’s slow and steady hands mark time, a rhythm tapped melodic.
His methods are unwavering, “no nonsense” is his creed.
He’s known to wait for no one; he won’t follow, only lead.
Just how these two have come to get along is quite a mystery.
And yet they’ve pieced together an extended faithful history.
The two, they’ve stayed together, beats all reason and all rhyme.
My mom is Mother Nature. And my dad… is Father Time.
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