Quietly Dysfunctional
Mother did not bake apple pies,
but she drank strong cider,
which baked her brains.
Dad had a sharp tongue,
he picked his teeth
with its forked tip.
We were a one child family,
there was a miscarriage.
I recall we butchered the stork.
Mother roasted it,
for us all
that Christmas.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
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