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Maggie and Max | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Our son married a flibbertygibbet,
my wife says, and I agree,
but he loves Maggie very much
so I say let’s keep quiet.
It’s not our place to criticize.
Max is 33, and not long
back from Iraq.
I remind my wife
that Maggie can cook
better than most

so let’s give her a chance.
Max works two jobs
and he’s never home.
Maggie’s young.
Maybe the baby will help
but I doubt it.
Too bad Maggie
didn’t take to quilting,
my wife points out.
The ladies at church

did their best to teach her.
But quilters, I remind her,
don’t go out at midnight
to places nobody knows.
My wife keeps asking
why Max married Maggie.
I don’t know what to say.
Finally I tell her I never saw
any woman walk like Maggie.
My wife says I never will.

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