Oh my gosh! I published this poem and one of my good friends and (loyal fan) read it and replied, “You’re picking on mothers and this weekend is Mother’s Day”!” Oops! My bad. I did not mean to malign the institution of motherhood… the timing was purely accidental. H-m-m-m, what would Freud say? Stash
Little Claire
Said little Claire, sitting in her high kitchen chair,
“I dislike carrots, peas and all veggies strained.”
“I want mommy’s dinner!” she angrily complained.
While there was flair to farina in her hair,
Claire cajoled her mother in attempt urge her
To share a Pepsi, her fries and cheese burger.
Claire whimpered and whined as her mother dined.
The sweet soda, the crispy fries, the burger rare…
In Claire’s mind, life seemed so very unfair.
Right now, although this may appear to be so,
Fret not impatient child who loudly shouts…
Very soon, situations will do their turnabout.
Mother will be old and you’ll have your parole.
You’ll dine nightly on spareribs and creamy coleslaw,
While mom will sip sup through an Ensure straw.
One day you’ll be a wife in this circle of life…
You’ll have sweet babes of your own,
And they’ll argue with you until they’re grown.
Go ahead, scream little Claire, from your tall chair…
But not about what food’s being served today…
About what’s inevitable and heading your way.
Stash