Miracle #3

For no reason
He has just pushed
My mother over
In the kitchen
Onto the carpet
That covers the stone floor

That I felt between my knees
Between 1965 and 1975 —

The carpet with
The swirling patterns
That she had earlier
And unnecessarily

Vacuumed —

The ambulance
Is already acclerating
Over the canal bridge,
Scattering long minutes
With his brilliant siren . . .

My mother

She is 77 year old.
It is Sunday. A warm
Sunday afternoon.

Why? I ask. Why?

It is what I do,
He replies —
What I do best.