The town works department had damaged our sidewalk,
I don’t recall what it was that they had been doing.
But the sidewalk was crashed and smashed
Into shapeless shards; in short, it was ruined.
My mother, Terry was her name,
Called the town to have them repair it
A man from the town came
He blanched and began to swear that
He couldn’t do the job that day,
He’d have to return another time,
And that the damage wasn’t that bad, anyway,
For now, the sidewalk was fine.
My mother set her jaw
And the two of them went back and forth.
She pointed to the damage she saw,
And spoke louder and with more force.
Eventually, the man gave up or gave in,
He would do the job, starting anew,
He recognized that he would not win
As he started to turn, he committed his final sin:
He snidely said: “Are you happy, lady?
You’re getting what you want!”
My mother, correctly pinning him as lazy,
Boiled over, like lava from a font.
She held his gaze but was silent all the same.
Then, with pointed finger, she said with steely reserve,
“No. I gave you my name.
And I’m not getting what I want. I’m getting what I deserve.”
Then she spun like a top
And slammed the door in the man’s face.
It was her coup de grace
The sound that door made.
My mother died too young,
She was only thirty four,
But she’s my hero
For deciding to slam that door.
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