Guitar Repair Woman

My mother told me:
 "If you ever become a rock star
 do not smash the guitar.
 There are too many poor kids out there who have nothin' and they see that shit
 when all they wanna do is play that thing Boy
 you better let'm play"
 Okay, if she ever starts in one of these
 lectures your best bet is to pull up a chair, chief, 'cause Momma don't deal in the abridged version.
 She worries about me so much some days
 it feels like I'm watching windshield wipers
 on high speed during a light sprinkle
 and I gotta tell'er, "Ma, yer makin' me nervous."
 She was born to be laid back, y'all, I swear,
 but some of us were brought up in households
 where Care Free is a stick of gum,
 and the only option for getting out
 is to walk faster.
 The woman can run
 in high heels
 backwards
 while bursting my bubble,
 double checking my homework,
 bursting my bubbles, rolling enough coins
 to make sure that I have lunch money,
 and preparing for a meeting at school
 on her only day off
 so she can tell Miss Goss the music teacher,
 "If you ever touch my boy again, big lady,
 I'll bounce a hammer off yer skull."
 I remember her doing these things swiftly
 and with a smile in her discounted thrift store business suits off layaway.
 She wore them bright and distinguished
 enough to cover up the 30 years of highway scars truckin' through her spine.
 Some accidents you don't need to see, rubbernecker.
 Keep movin'
 'cause she made it.
 She's alive
 and she's famous.
 We can stretch Van Gogh paintings
 from Kilgore, TX to Binghampton, NY
 and you still won't find the brilliant brush
 strokes
 it takes to be a single mother
 sacrificing the best part of her dreams
 to raise a baby boy who – on most days –
 she probably wants to strangle.
 We disagree – a lot.
 For instance, she still thinks it's okay
 to carry a conversation
 full throttle
 at 7 a.m.
 whereas I think...
 Oh, wait, I'm sorry...
 I don't think at seven in the morning.
 But we both agree that
 Love
 makes no mistakes.
 So at night time,
 when she's winding down
 and I'm still writing books about
 how to get comfortable in this skin she gave me,
 I see rock stars on stages
 smashing guitars.
 It's when I wanna find'm a comfortable
 chair
 get'm a snack,
 and introduce them to Daylight:
 This is my mother,
 Tresa B. Olsen.
 Runner of the tight shift.
 Taker of the temperature.
 Leaver of the light on.
 Lover of the underdog.
 Mover of the mountain.
 Winner of the good life.
 Keeper of the
 hope
 chest.
 Guitar
 Repair
 Woman.
 And I am her son,
 Buddy Wakefield.
 I play a tricked-out electric pen,
 thanks to the makers of music and metaphor,
 but I do my best to keep the words in check,
 and I use padded microphone
 so I don't hurt you,
 because sometimes I smash things,
 and I don't ever wanna let'er down.