Here’s to Moms, who see it all going wrong

Who bangs around cleaning when her daughter sings a song

She picks up after the one with no sense of clean

Who has offered her skills there, if you know what I mean

The mother who allowed her to leave with miss-matched clothes

Knowing full well that that shade of blue doesn’t go with rose

And in future years, she allows the boy who doesn’t come in

But sits in the car with his know-it-all grin

The Mom who insists that he does, and then is sorry

Seeing a boy who could use a laboratory

Or could a lavatory at least clean up his outer skin

For nothing could free him from an institute once he got in

And yet she allowed her daughter to see him anyway

Hoping to God that she would see past him some day

And finally, to marry the man who she just couldn’t stand

The one who wasn’t  by any means grand

Yet eventually came around and was not quite the bust

Who made a good husband and father,

Earning the daughter, her Mother’s lifelong trust.


Barbara Blackcinder

About Barbara Blackcinder

I am a poet/writer with a hunger for words. There are so many out there that I haven't used yet. They define all reality and especially mine when you read those from me.
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4 Responses to Mothers

  1. I’m thinkin’ this isn’t a true story in your family, right?

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