A is for Alone

When I was little,
barely eight,
I was learning words:
inspiration,
manipulation;
big, new words.
At one, after lunch,
in the yard,
sitting in the grass,
Mother spoke.
I always listened.
She was smart,
and rightfully so,
a doctor.
She talked about fools,
stupidness,
absence of the mind.
She told me
to always be smart,
never fooled.
I promised her that,
to be smart.
But promises break,
when tempted.
Smooth talkers tell lies,
I listen.
That is where it starts,
with the lies.
My big pile of them.