The Mother Was Not There

 

When the baby was born, I said,

The mother wasn’t there.

How was that even possible

Was the question that appeared.

 

“You talk a lot of foolishness,”

Said the accused to me,

She, herself, not thinking it through,

Considered me a dummy.

 

“Not my fault if you’re that dumb,”

I quickly upbraided her

Whereupon she underscored

She’d be a fool to concur.

 

“You’d be a fool if you don’t,”

Was my immediate reply

And with that I repeated what I said

Though not without a sigh.

 

When the baby was born

The mother was not there.

“That’s what I heard the first time,

My hearing is pretty clear.”

 

 

Your hearing might be clear

But your reasoning is not

And if you were that baby’s mother

You would still be in shock.

 

“Can you explain?” she asked,

Admitting her difficulty,

To which I replied, “Sure.”

And commenced immediately.

 

The baby’s mother, you see,

Was on the way to the clinic

When the baby was born

And caused everyone to panic.

 

The traffic was extremely heavy

And she was in a taxi,

And whether it was true or not

I saw it in a movie.

 

She was not at the clinic

When the baby was born,

Quite obviously, to be born in a taxi

Is not an everyday norm.

 

Stewart Russell © August 2020

 

When Traffic Backs Up

 

 

It’s amazing what you see

When traffic backs up

Especially when trying to beat it

But ran out of luck.

 

It’s even more amazing

If you are not alone

And rather than heading to work

You’re on your way home.

 

Not only do you talk

But you look all around,

Something you couldn’t have done

When speedily bound.

 

 

 

Traffic slows to a crawl,

There’s nothing you can do

And suddenly as though by magic

So much comes into view.

 

A conversation begins

And you say to someone

Where did that building come from?

And the talk goes on.

 

Traffic forgotten,

You talk about the sights:

All the beautiful new buildings

And the other delights.

 

They were there before

But you were in a rush

And your eyes could never rest on them

Whether dawn or dusk.

 

It’s just like life!

We’re always in a hurry,

No time to slow down or stop

To take in its beauty.

 

It takes congestion

Of one kind or another

To stop us dead in our tracks

By becoming a bother.

 

We are destination bent

On the journey of life

And often in our ill-advised haste

We perpetuate strife.

 

Like a serious accident

Due to our frenetic rush

And then far more time is wasted

And unnecessary fuss.

 

 

 

When traffic backs up

Don’t fuss and fret,

Just take in the beauty all around

That you haven’t seen yet.

 

Stewart Russell © August 8, 2025