August 30: Steam in My Engine, Poet of the Week, Marie Howe, "Hurry"

I don't have much steam in my engine right now.  It's close to 11 p.m., and I have to get up at 4:45 a.m.  So, I will just name the Poet of the Week and go to bed.

Marie Howe.

Saint Marty is going to brush his teeth now.  Enjoy tonight's poem.

Hurry

by:  Marie Howe

We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store   

and the gas station and the green market and   

Hurry up honey, I say, hurry,   

as she runs along two or three steps behind me   

her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.   

Where do I want her to hurry to? To her grave?   

To mine? Where one day she might stand all grown?   

Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,   

Honey I'm sorry I keep saying Hurry—   

you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.   

And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking   

back at me, laughing. Hurry up now darling, she says,   

hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.

This cartoon has nothing to do with the poem