Mother always on the move,
mending every dam we'd blasted through.
Imagined she was holding back the flood.
Scrubbing brush would clean us up for good.
Water too turbulent?
put saucepan lid on that.
Ground began to move?
It got hoovered flat.
Sunday was a day she could not rest.
Wash the prayer mat, Sunday best,
"Get down to the church.
Confess your mess."
Did not believe a single word.
A view deep down she also shared
It was all "respectability",
be seen being good.
Skulduggery could not be washed away,
even on the Sabbath day.