Terry Miller Poet Rhyme

Mother Dear

It never was the Meissen that she threw
but dinner plates, of which we had so few
our dad would have a scar upon his head
and breakfast plate was just a slice of bread

The kitchen knife was brandished now and then
to emphasize who was the Mother Hen;
and we? We justly cowered in our beds;
threw our meagre covers ‘oer our heads.

She wore a mini skirt and beehive hair
when she was sure my father was not there
then took us visiting our “uncle Stan”
When asked, we had just visited our gran.

A Babycham and brandy was her thing
that was, without, or with, her wedding ring
and all the men in all the bars, they knew,
and told, they simply had to form a queue.

And yet, when knees were scraped and hugs required
it was from mother they were most desired
The distance that our father held from her
meant any love for him, was just a blur.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment