Tacking

I’m sure to a passing observer

She appears

As a bird in a gusty day,

Whose feathers are splayed 

Askew like an umbrella

The wind blew inside out.

Mercury’s in retrograde.

Communication carries doubt,

Or, at the very least, it should be dubious. 

“What’s wrong with you!” her mother shouts.

But my friend has stalled,

A technique employed by

The greatest football teams

Right before they win.

She’s considering the wind,

And has decided she doesn’t want to go

Any old way the wind tries to blow her.

So she’s tacking

Happily,

Without regard to the shouts of the crowd 

Or her mother,

Because my friend knows exactly what she’s doing,

And she’s doing it well,

And she would never tell anyone 

To go to hell,

Least of all her mother

On Mother’s Day.

-jenn