The Day Mom Fell Off the Wagon

I knew she could laugh. It just wasn’t very often...

Photo by Javier Quiroga on Unsplash

The Day Mom Fell Off the Wagon

I knew she could laugh
It just wasn’t very often
Most of the time, she lived
as if nailed in a coffin.

Sunday drives relieved us all
from our cares and chores
The smell of fresh air, the scenery
as we passed the great outdoors

of the Wasatch range and meadows.
Dad drove us to Evanston where
his father grew up on a ranch.
Once in town, we would hear

Dad say, If you throw a rock, 
you might hit a cousin.

We found a favorite restaurant
the Jolly Roger Bar and Grill
Steak and carafe of wine
with a fairly reasonable bill.

The rich red flavor of the cabernet
washed down an inch-thick slab
of meat lovingly seared and seasoned
with maybe an extra carafe on the tab.

Dad’s eyes gleamed with mischief
as he watched Mom quietly sip
one glass then another until
her countenance began to slip.

A giggle forced its way and then
she let loose a mighty guffaw
I enjoyed my mother’s company
more with every surprising faux pas.

At last, the time arrived for us
to weave our way to the car
Dad abetted her bumps and stumbles
as she struggled to leave the bar.

Still laughing at every misstep,
chairs pushing her into a spin
she finally settled into the car
never to lose control again.

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Read more from Sue Cauhape on her page, “Ring Around the Basin”:

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