Autobiography · Poetry

Mother’s Pride

 

I have a key,
You can’t keep me out.
He’s still my son
Though married to a lout.

I fill your cupboards
With his favourite tins.
Whatever you cook
It’s me who wins.

I run my finger
Through your dust.
Can you, you slattern
See my disgust?

But I’m just kidding
It’s all a joke!
Can’t you take it
When I give you a poke?

I buy all his clothes
Smart and new.
And a dead woman’s nightie
I give to you.

But one day I find
The nightie in the bin.
And then the next
I can’t get in.


Needless to say, it took my timid self far longer to get to that last verse in reality – about twenty years, in fact! (I only recently chucked out the dead woman’s night dress.) But I did get there, and my life has been more peaceful since.

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