Mum Dancing

I didn’t like my mother dancing,

preferred her acting sensible,

not wearing out the linoleum

on our kitchen floor with frivolity

triggered by something on the radio.

She might have been excused by youth,

was still in her thirties and hale;

but such thoughts don’t occur to a boy.

I loved her loving seriousness

and dedication to my well-being.

How could she claim to look after me

with the sober care that task deserved

when her feet, and all the rest of her,

were moving to no good purpose

but to get more brothers and sisters?