(Inspired by a story by Aimee Blanchette)
My mother never loved me, cuz she never would supply
Me with probiotics or a knotted Windsor tie.
She often tucked me into bed and left me in the dark
Without a bedtime story—which I think was pretty stark.
I always felt neglected when Art Linkletter was on;
She wouldn’t bother to get up and fetch me a pecan.
And when I said a bad word I did not get therapy;
A bar of soap inside my mouth was good enough for me.
She liked to use Chef Boyardee when she was in a rush,
And poisoned me with sugar in my cereal and mush.
She let my laundry pile up, let my shoe laces all fray.
You never would mistake her for a stainless Doris Day!
She gossiped with the neighbors when I needed a nose wipe,
And didn’t care when I ate apples green and quite unripe.
My mother fell down on the job of making me behave.
I’m sorry to report that she was NOT the perfect slave.