I’m the daughter, so I’ll get the mortgage,
native shrubs, leather-look lounge.
You’re the mother, so for you it’s a villa,
thorns and blooms.
European holiday slides,
White bowls dress, white
Hat on white hair.
Photographs, angina pills,
I’ll be surrounded.
Grand Central Station.
Husband, babies, friends, committees
And a clan of demanding in-laws.
Guest bedroom dusted weekly. Matching lamps.
Even old friends and faithful cats will leave you
In the end.
(First published in aversion)