i wish i could move my fingers
across the banjo with
the flair
the spin
the genius
the beautiful British accent
the perfection
the speed

but i can’t.
i can only spin these tires
new shoes clipped in
and ride until my breath escapes me
and try to remember
what i’m good at

which isn’t much,
being the mother of
that student,
the talk-about-in-teachers’-lounge
grumble-about-apathetic-parents
wish-you-didn’t-have-in-your-class
student

at least i can pretend to sing
like Mumford & Sons
and admit
I REALLY FUCKED IT UP THIS TIME,
DIDN’T I, MY DEAR??