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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…

Copyright © | Year Posted 2014

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Date: 5/10/2015 10:37:00 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.
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Date: 4/21/2015 11:48:00 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.
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Date: 11/30/2014 7:57:00 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.
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Date: 11/25/2014 10:06:00 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!
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