By the graveside

The flowers on a heap at the grave,
some given by love others out of duty.
Some with a grudge didn’t show up
as banal revenge of the pain from
the whip of her sharp tongue.
I found it difficult to comprehend that
my impossible mother was in a coffin
she had no respect of authority, spoke
her mind sometimes unwisely.
I saw she once slapping a police officer
who got so perplexed he walked his way
after threatening to arrest her.
She was an avid reader but never wrote
which was a pity she had much to offer.
She is still inside of my head and will be
there as long as I live.