The Right Touch

You know, Momma’s got the Crojo,
crochet gone mad like handicraft in riot,
like yarn in loop and needle needing more,
like woman lusting pattern born of hook
and dexterous hand, and this I know
because I see her countenance aglow,
and Momma had a cup of Joe
that got her mojo going.
“Darn the yarn,” she shouted loud
yet I knew she wasn’t damning it
like Farragut damned those torpedoes
at Mobile Bay, but Momma
punned and needled me
and frilled the moment
with hi-ho, and twinkled
pupils filled with fun, frivolity
a flagrant imp, a compass spinning
magnetic north--oh Momma, My Momma
seed the spool with hooray thread and
apprehend the threadbare knees, for
mojo knows of cleft and cleave
kick-starting bare and ragged,
and charming loops
from our matriarch’s hands so
skilled, makes hip divisions in
the fabric of the day-to-day.
Uh huh, that crojo be hers
and there she goes at speeds unheard
of, knowing yarn, and much like
Bones* when operating at warp speed
(imploring Scotty to comment so),
but I just grin and dock my awe
and let her weave a cap or shawl,
so I will wear the fruits
of fabric thus assembled,
since mojo grabbed
her somewhere sweet,
with Camelot hands
and pulsing fingertips
skilled as slow locators.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
4-15-16
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*Bones refers to Doctor McCoy, (Star Trek), when he was doing
  brain surgery at a very fast speed due to alien knowledge infused
  into his brain--but the knowledge only lasted so long.