My mother's second husband.(Poem)

 
   My mother sits enveloped in a green chair. 
   She's puzzling over something new. 
   How many times have I been married? she asks. 
   Only once Mum, I say. 
   Unless there's something you haven't told us. 
   She gives me that look, the one thing she can still find, 
   the look reserved for impertinent children. 
   So there isn't another man then? 
   And two small children? 
   No ...