. How Troubling to Know Mrs. Pain How troubling to know Mrs. Pain. She has written some ludicrous stuff. Some think that she hasn’t a brain, And some think she has just enough. She types her stuff on the computer, Sometimes late into the night. The hairstyle she has doesn’t suit her, She’s almost passé… but not quite. She’s apt to be tense and uneasy, She’s a bit of a hermit of sorts. Fried sausages make her feel queasy, And she freaks at the mention of warts. She’s very reluctant to travel, She seems to live up to her name. It’s caused an addiction to Gravol, Which really is rather a shame. She’s tongue-tied in group situations. When she laughs she is likely to snort. Her clothes always need alterations, Because she’s incredibly short. She thinks she should be more proactive, She currently does diddlysquat. It would make her she thinks, more attractive, Realistically though it would not. Her culinary efforts are dreary, And definitely far from exotic. But do not complain or she’s teary, And for a week after… neurotic! Too often of late she indulges In ice cream when she should abstain. Then she complains about bulges, How troubling to know Mrs. Pain. . . Mother Agnes “You are old mother Agnes,” the young woman stated, __“And often trip over your cat. You frequently seem to be intoxicated, __Pray, what is the reason for that?” “In my youth,” mother Agnes replied with a slur, __“I drank because you were a brat. And everything since then is simply a blur __And I honestly like it like that.” “You are old mother Agnes and long in the tooth, __You have lost any semblance of charm, And yet you keep guzzling gin and vermouth, __Are you sure it’s not doing you harm?” “In my youth,” mother Agnes replied to her daughter, __“I drank only one day in four, But now I am old I believe that I oughta __Be able to drink so much more.” “You are old mother Agnes; the make-up you wear __Is as thick as an elephant’s hide, And yet it would seem that you really don’t care __That your face is of one who has died.” “In my youth,” said her mother; “I wore it to hide __Every slight imperfection or spot, And though there are times when it looks like I died, __It appears after all, I did not.” “You are old mother Agnes and soon to expire __So in church I choke up with a tear, And yet you continue to sing in the choir, __Do you not give a whit for my ear?” “In my youth,” said her mother, “I sang in the shower, __My shyness so hard to dispel. But as I grew older... less sweet and more sour, __That’s when I came out of my shell.” “You are old mother Agnes; I fear that your mind __From the spirits, is turning to mush, I do not intend to be rude or unkind __But you really are rather a lush.” “I have answered three questions regarding my youth” __Said her mother, “I’m thirsty I think, It's time for my evening gin and vermouth, __Do shut-up and pour me a drink.” . . Norma Pain was born in Liverpool, England and now lives in Parksville, British Columbia, Canada. Thirty of Norma’s poems were published by Dana Literary Society, between 2004 and 2007 and she was twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize by that same on-line poetry site. She self-published a book of rhyme in 2000 called Bulging Assets.