On ironing and waiting

Their she waited,
By the back door,
Ironing clothes, to pass the time.

This having something do,
While, she waits.

This young one,
This product, of love.
The gift of the body,
Like the others, too.

How to help him,
Be a man.

With a large brood,
Time with each,
Is hard, to come by.

When he left,
Such words, of anger,
Between us then.

Never coming home, he said.
I am a man, he said.

Does a man, do this to his mother?

Maybe come home,
He will not,
Then this my heart, will be broken.

Still I wait.

As so many others wait,
Their by.

Always the light on,
And a lesson to share,
This then child,
Becomes a man.