This old lady is so shriveled

she hardly makes a dent

in the chair. What is such

a mother for, I wonder?

Now she is barely alive.

Soon she will be reabsorbed

into the ground.

How do I reconcile this person

with one about whom

I may, at one time,

have had incestuous thoughts?

I may have lain

in my room, listening

to her footsteps

out in the hall, imagining

she would come through the door

stripped to the waist

and I guess made love

to me until I died.

O the glory and the shame!

How can I have these thoughts

about this old lady?