Poetry
1 min
My Mother at 3, 16, and 23
Everymother
My mother has peculiar tastes
She likes mud pies
and woodchip cakes
And when I offer bathtub tea
She squeals "delightful"
And smiles at me.
My mother likes to think she knows
What makes me tick
and how life goes
And when I scream, "just let me be"
She nods annoyingly
And smiles at me.
My mother met me in New York
To see the place
Where I now work
And when I say that I am happy
She sighs and cries
And smiles at me.
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