Mother’s Day

Mother’s Day is drawing near/ But not for her, she isn’t here/ This is the second time she’s been/ Absent from the regimen/ – / No cards for her, no dinners, too/ No tributes from her motley crew/ I don’t know how to observe it/ a ceremony that would fit/ – / I’m in this all alone, you see/ The other kids are not like me/ I took care of her for years/ I hated coping with her fears/ – / While her eccentricities grew/ my siblings’ visits, they were few/ I wanted someone, I confess/ to help clean up her vile mess/ – / The problem, it was never solved/ In fact, my relatives devolved/ I should have nagged, I ponder now/ Would my sibs have been there, somehow? / – / I’m stuck with memories of me/ Cleaning up voraciously/ The bitterness that I’m left with/ Happy family — that’s a myth.

About Mary Borchard

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