Maggie Kemp

JUST IS…

 

Just is justice

I’m just so many things

Just a doctor

I try to fix them, I don’t give them their diseases

Just a wife – Don’t ask me, I don’t keep his calendar –

I’m just a mom…

 

I don’t know much, you know

When Taylor was born, he knew that I knew everything

He knew that I was infallible – he eyed me with trust, hope, love.

I was at the pinnacle of his world, then –

 

I shot out of the box, tried to steady my wobbly skis, and I was off!

 

Down the slide, steadying, redirecting, still hanging by an ever

thinning strand

faster, faster, heading for the base,

falling, falling,

barely hanging on.

 

Not long ago, Taylor said emphatically,

"Mom, you don’t know anything!"

I went careening out of the tracks.

About the third time he said this to me, I realized that he was right.

Regaining my unsteady course, I told him,

"You’re right, I don’t know anything.

Do you know why I don’t know anything?

It’s because I’m a parent –

Parents don’t know anything."

To his uncomfortable, squirrelly look, I said,

"Trust me, I know.

I have two parents. They don’t know anything."

 

Someday, I’ll take off from the jump Whooosh! –

Free-falling, never knowing where or how I’ll land.

I simply pray for strength and balance as a parent.

I’m just a parent.

I never knew the job was so hard.

I only knew that my parents didn’t know anything.

Today, I know that my parents know at least one thing.

When they think of me, they know that I am just a mom.

Just is justice…

 

 

  Spring 2009

 

Construction

       by Maggie Kemp

 

I stand in arc of wooden beams,

bare frame, no solid walls.

My hard hat shades my green-brown eyes,

the foreman mocks and drawls.

 

Look right, the stack of pipe must now

be carried to its home.

We lock the matter in our cage.

Just heft it up – Be Strong.

 

Hup one, hup two, he drones on stroke,

now march them down the ramp.

A man you’ll make, says macho drake,

as muscle builds your brawn.

 

I don’t have dirty balls to make  

such alteration grim.

Thank God for that, but trash you scum,

we need some manly men.

 

For they will mind sharp woman’s rule,

I say send virile men.

They’ll stoke the fires and haul this load

with nary bitch nor moan.

 

My words assault your ego’s ass,

how dare I jab at you?

You’ve all your muscle in your mouth

the rest, weak, flaccid pulp.

 

FOLLOWING ORDERS

            by Maggie Kemp

 

I drove a truck,

a 14-foot stake, white,

up high, I could see everything,

I even parallel parked.

Never asked to load or unload that truck,

women weren’t supposed to do those things.

I drove all around Pittsburgh,

negotiated triangles built on triangles;

if I got lost, I’d stop in the middle of a five-way,

ask the cops for directions,

only during rush-hour of course.

 

I met the power-mongers

AND I dealt with their weakling offspring.

I picked up air conditioners, parts,

got them loaded on the truck

drove them to the guys.

I mastered the stake,

then I got upgraded,

bill collector.

 

The boss needed a person to go collect money.

He told me to go to this brawny man’s office,

the guy’d hand me an envelope that I should open in front of him.

There should be a check for at least two thousand dollars.

Whatever it was, I should say, menacingly,

“Is that all?”

 

Well, I did just that.

The fat, burly guy got red in the face,

crinkled his jowls, and blew out a yell.

I sauntered out with my grin.

 

I was just following orders.

 

 

 

Maggie Kemp lives in Lempster, NH, with her husband and two children. She spends a lot of time watching loons. You should hear her read her Toothbrush poem.