Calling Home

I called Mom on a Tuesday night and said,
"Hey ma, how are things back home?"
She said "well you know your dad is hurt,
and of course he is, he always has some ache in brain or bone
he likes to believe he is indestructible, made from stone
your brother still talks is that broken glass tone,
and every time I look away you and him are a little to grown
and sometimes I scared that I'll be alone."
And its funny, cause as cheerful as that all sounds, it's exactly where I want to be,
and my Mom knows it.
Mom can hear in silence, like bats see in the dark and she asks me what's wrong
and I start to sing her the same old song,
Classes are fine, I am managing time and my friends and I all get along.
But my mouth has a mind of its own and before I can stop I say:
"I'm sick ma, I've got a fever and it's bad,
I can't see the sun cause the clouds in my head are so damn sad,
and I cant even get out of bed without feeling so mad."
And being the Mom she was always meant to be
she speaks a special remedy
she says "Listen that's not a fever, youre just sweating the small stuff,
And as for the clouds, theyre an invitation to quit when the going gets tough,
and the only reason you cant get out of bed is that you're not dreaming enough."
She says here talk to your dad,
and before I can say no his voice pours over the phone
"Listen pal I know your anxious, but God knew that too,
so he left a reminder in our blood to B+,
if youre ever unsure enter into the interrogative,
with someone who lives of their own prerogative,
cause they're the folks who show you how to live."
I listen to the man who taught me how to throw a baseball
like he was some type of guru with answers to it all
as if from damn near 1000 miles away he could reach through a call
and catch me just as I am about to fall
but then I remember that is not dad's style
this is the main who taught me to ride a bike by pushing me down a hill
I stayed balanced but couldnt figure the brakes
thats part of the way dad teaches he shows me my mistakes
he points them out with labels like bandaids on all my scrapes
and then I speak up "Dad I cant deal with these people there all fakes!"
"No kid, they're not, they're doing what you should, whatever it takes."
I know he's right
I know for just about everyone, every day is a fight
and that most people might
if they could, say "listen kid it'll be alright"
Over the static on the phone I hear my dog barking
I can hear the broken glass yelling
and dad sighing
he's hurt
of course he's hurt he always has some ache in brain or bone
he is accident prone
but dad is responsible
he remembers his accidents even when they call on the phone