A Sense Of Disappointment Recycled

I remember the tone of resignation in my mother's voice
every time I used to phone her, when I was younger.
As if to say 'What trouble has he got himself into now?'.

Her weary suspicion was what I kept trying to get past
to reestablish trust, after years of being able get myself
out of any trouble I might have gotten into by my own means.

But I could never defeat her suspicions,
or her disbelief that I could ever be trusted now,
after, by necessity, having been reliant on her.

Now, I am older than the politicians who seek my vote,
and I understand how and why Mother felt the way she did.
The politicians wheedle and charm me to get my vote,
and my attention. Both are inherently hard to earn quickly,
except by cheap publicity which quickly reduces it's user.

It would more wholesome for them to embrace
the weary suspicion and scepticism of the public
who before they hear about what is done in their name
feel duty bound to ask each other  'What new trouble
has [insert name of leader here] got our country into NOW?'