MY MOTHER'S WORLD OF JOHN McNULTY

I read a book called The World of John McNulty
When I was 16 or so; my mother thought I'd like him
And I did, but not more than I liked many writers
And less than my favorites. It is now late Spring
Either 46 years or an eyeblink later. On a small computer
I read McNulty again; much better than I remembered
And my mother has somehow contrived to get the man
To send me her love and also to ask if now
I can see why these stories were dear to her.