Debbie Groyer
If you wonder why I drink,
You’ve not met my mom I think.
Always right is she, just ask.
That is why I have a flask.
Well-informed, sagacious too,
Glad to tell you what to do!
What to eat and how to dress,
That your uncut hair’s a mess.
How you gave her so much strife,
What you should have done with life,
How to vote and how to think,
Have I mentioned that I drink?
The credentials that you lack.
Which apparel to take back.
What stuff you should throw away,
Why your life’s in disarray.
What you could have done had you,
Heeded her advice for you.
That your kids eat too much junk.
Now you see why I get drunk?
If you even hint that she,
Could benefit from therapy,
Quick! Take cover. Rage she’ll spout,
She can’t take it, she’ll just dish it out!
The notion of her imperfection,
She will meet with cold rejection.
She has been a model mother,
Like her there has been no other.
The suffering, the sacrifice,
And with two, she did it twice!
How you disappointed her,
Can you pass me the liqueur?
Self-awareness? Not a trace!
Self-delusion in its place.
From on high she judges all,
In front of her there is a wall.
Erected so that she can hide,
And none can ever get inside.
For if they did, they’d surely find,
The trembling child disguised behind.
Insecure and full of doubt,
She thinks that no one knows about.
Yet, all her flaws are plain to see,
Any questions? Just ask me!
The patronizing attitudes,
The way she punishes with moods.
Memories unsolicited,
Of all the stupid things I did.
Which friend picks her teeth, and which,
Is cheap and which one is a bitch.
Who is smart? (It’s very few)
She’s an expert on this too!
Of all that’s good, she’s a composite,
No skeletons are in her closet!
And in that closet, you will find,
Only clothing that’s refined.
She dresses, oh so matronly,
As befitting royalty.
Bow and scrape, now not later,
In the presence of my mater!
Her façade, shown to her minions,
Elicits only good opinions.
While we who have the inside track,
Nod knowingly behind her back.
And while we try to do what’s right,
Rages an internal fight.
The classic tale of love and hate,
Ambivalence remains our fate.
As little sense is made of all,
We drown ourselves in alcohol.