The Writer's Voice
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Liz
by
Diana Keeton
This rolling bucket of wire and wheels better
hold together. Out of my way, I'm in a hurry. Oops, pothole.
Bet that driver was pissed. Move it, move it, basket
coming through. Don't flick your finger at me, sonny,
these old teeth are still mine.
One more street and finale. Right on time wicked clock,
ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, and
yes, yes, there he is. I can't see, too many people; darn,
gone already. I'll wait. He comes out again at noon.
Can't go to Angie's bar, kicked out. Do I smell?
I used the rose toilet water I found at the dump,
Saving the good stuff for the day I meet my son.
Next Tuesday should be good.
Shut up you bloody Monday driver,
let an old woman cross the street in peace.
Kids today ain't got no respect.
Henry, Henry, it's Liz, Henry...
Asshole. I wasn't gonna bum no money, Just
wanted to pass the time.
Goddamn cart gets harder and harder to push.
Maybe I'm gettin' weaker. Poppy-tash, I'm as
tough as ever, ask ole Jake about the kick
in the ass I gave him. He cracked up laughin'
when I told him I was going to live with my son.
Bet he don't do that again.
Grabbed ole Jake by the ear, dragged him
all the way to the corner, just to see for himself.
Pointed out my boy all dressed in a fancy pin stripe
suit and high steppin' into the Wall Street building.
Right on time he was.
Watched him grow up. Been watching him
for years, from a distance. Wondering what
he'd think of this bag of rags.
Stood outside the church the day he got married.
Wore my best dress and fancy hat, had a present
in my cart, decided against goin' in.
Slept for weeks by the hospital when
they were expecting. The janitor, Buzz kept
checking the records too, but they never came.
Must have gone somewhere else.
Followed him to work one day and now I
watch him, come and go. Tuesday, I'll walk
up to him and say 'Son, I'm your mom.' Then
I suspect he'll take me home to see the new
baby.
Oops, is it noon yet, can't miss him going to
lunch. Move it, Move it, Move it, old lady
coming through, darn, a truck, hurry, hurry,
I'm out of breath, I can't move fast enough,
Ooh....
Goodness, thank you young man, you saved my
weary old bones. But you'll never appreciate the
irony of your brave deed nor the rapture it delivered.
The effects of which I will bear forever.
Won't tell you next Tuesday, you saved your mother's
life. Won't intrude, nor ask forgiveness. But heaven
felt sorry for this lingering soul as my nightly prayer
was answered. God let me touch my son.
Yup, Yup, this old cart's light as a feather. Outta my
way, move it, move it, move it, I got places to be.
Wipe that smirk off your face Jake, this smile ain't
for you, but you could spring for tea. Yes, tea!
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