betty boo does not do restaurants

betty boo does not do restaurants,
even before they banned smoking,
she says, puffing pointedly on a cigarette,
i stopped going out years ago,
once you're a single mom,
you're not too keen on a crowded room,
it all sounds like one big bang

so we are sitting in her dining room,
drinking cup after cup of coffee,
eating capacious amounts of chocolate biscotti’s,
she bought this house a decade ago for her grandchildren

gulls fly outside, noonday light streams in through the curtains, illuminating a copy of one of her most prized celebrated, charming portraits, of the son she lost, and the many portraits of her family that remain, and there are many

the mother, the grandma, the aunt, friend: betty,
whose image exerts an emotional pull over the entire room,
always engrossed in preparing for her family’s needs,
she is a softer, more permanent presence,
with blonde hair, piercing eyes, wily,
warm expression and darting features,
instantly likeable, resembling an angel
sent down from the heavens
to guide her family thru all it’s ups and downs

enjoying a cigarette in the spring sunshine,
she is renowned as a consigliere, an ideatore,
she’s the virtuoso of her world,
shades of colors brightly surround her,
electric purples, pinks and lime greens,
she is the padrone of her castle in the sky,
so classically betty-esque