Dot

Sturdy, old, Irish Dot

Stuck with the babies

As happy as a tight shoe

Claiming a foot in a hard embrace

That is her job

No room of her own

Does she ever feel put upon?

Or angry

Or tired

Or want to discover Explorer or Microsoft?

Still she cuddles

And coos

And laughs

And plays

And keeps the babies safe

And warm

And dry

And fed

She without wants of her own

Exists for others

Like a fleece lined slipper that caresses

And comforts

And constructs happy well-nurtured children.