Mother love

Excuse me,
I see a tiny speck of dirt there.
It mars your perfect surface;
I'll just pluck it off --
I've been a mother so long,
it's second nature to correct
those minor imperfections in my children,
and now that they are gone
that urge to fix
must find expression elsewhere --

perhaps that's why,
when I first became a mom,
my mother spent her visits to my home
trimming hedges and cleaning the kitchen;
and -- worst of all --
muttering constant course corrections
to this fledgling parent
and her so imperfect children.
Oh, dear -- I'm turning into Mom:
perhaps I'll just return that tiny speck,
and do another rewrite of this poem...

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