My beta-blocker sends me dreams of my mother, Dead thirteen years—well, there’s humor in numbers!

And of course I would dream of her before others,

Which is what she would have as her absolute druthers—

Top-billed in the cast-list of her last daughter’s slumbers.

My beta-blocker sends me dreams of my mother.

She’s reasonable, affable, no kind of bother,

She breathes without oxygen, just with port in a tumbler

And of course I would dream of her before others.

Why not? Now she’s easy, past baffling-wonder.

I no longer need fear that red-headed rumbler.

I welcome the dreams of my red-headed mother.

We spar or we quarrel and we mostly just putter,

As daft as ever, neither kinder nor humbler.

And of course I would dream of her before others.

Because I have lived my whole life as her daughter,

Her blessings and burdens entwine to encumber

The beta-block dreams I have of my mother.

--And of course I would dream of her before others.