Riding along
She spoke of a squishy cranberry
And my face soon matched its hue
In part at surprise and chagrin that she
Spoke so of a bog-borne fruit
In part because I didn't think of it
Though the metaphor is sensible enough
And maybe someday I will speak of it with her
When she asks me questions she hesitates to ask her mother
Or which her mother refers to me
There are some things I know more about
Few though they are
But it is more likely she will recall
Steel trap mind not rusted shut
And kept from the rain so it will not likley be
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