Tyshawn Knight Poet Rhyme

Home Cooked Meals

Mommy and I have to eat home cooked meals
At the restaurant
Because mommy is determined to keep up this 
Fam’ly front.
No one can know we live in misery.
Though we wear Oleg Cassini and 
Carry a Coach purse
We live in love’s poverty.

I think I’m getting an ulcer.
But, she eats slow
And I clean my plate
Don’t want to get home too early
We want to waste time
And get home very late

We eat out almost every night
To make people think everythings alright
I no longer ask why she doesn’t confess
And try to get us out of this mess.
She just feels she’ll never be blessed
And she wants to keep her designer suits
And bags…
She thinks she’s trapped
And it’s all very sad…

And
I think I’m getting an ulcer…

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Richard Lamoureux May 10, 2015 at 10:37 AM This could be my mom's story without the restaurants, designer bags and clothes. Sadly my dad would never let my mom out of his site. A restaurant meal would have been a wonderful reprieve. It is sad when women find themselves trapped and are forced to keep up appearances.

Warner Baxter April 21, 2015 at 11:48 PM As I read, I found myself sitting at the next table with my Mommy and Dad. You pulled me right in. Mom and Dad both had the fried Catfish and I had the Pot Roast. Dad will turn 80 this year, Mom 79, they both seem to be trapped within themselves too proud to say anything. And my ulcer grows. Cherish each and every moment, because sooner than you think, It will be table for one. Great job and thank you for sharing. Warner.

Carol Eastman November 30, 2014 at 7:57 AM Welcome to PoetrySoup. Click on an avatar or name to go to anothers poems. Leave a comment and that person will have a permanent link back to your works... Keep writing. A very unusual and interesting write.

Chaim Wilson November 25, 2014 at 10:06 PM I once saw a writer's restaurant with the sign "Eat Words, and Drink Poetry". You could open such a eatery, your poem is tasty. Keep writing!