Vigilant as she was,
once we were out of the house, either on a daily basis
as in “going to the library, Mama,”
code for meeting Marty Lyons to kiss in the stacks or in college
or married & out of state, we dropped from her radar.
My dear younger sister escaped Mama’s abuse
by carting all her percussion instruments & stands to the huge garage attic,
out of sight & harm’s way,
except for the Coca-Cola and cigarettes.