For my mother.

Who can take a two pound chicken breast and feed me, my sister, herself, and the rest.

For three days.

Who can keep the lights on, the house warm, the water running, the food on the table, and the clothes on my back.

With minimum wage.

Wonder Woman can't even pull off that shit.

My mother gives me a sholder to cry on, a lap to lie on, and advice that's like a bandage for the soul.

My father foolishly tried to chew her up and swallow her whole.

But she broke his jaw.

Her breath taking beauty leaves all the men in awe.

She is no hoe, nor slut, nor whore.

But the classiest of women I have ever been witness to before.

Who but a lady can mow the lawn, shovel out her car, buy the groceries, carry the groceries in, put them all away, and make her family dinner.

In lipstick and heels.

Super Woman is real.

I see her everyday.

This poem is for the only person that has ever given a hay.

She kept me alive and she kept our little family off the streets.

When my father tried to put us there.

She supports me and my crayola styled hair.

She doesn't like the holes in my face.

But she let me get them anyway.

When I get my first tattoo I know exactly what it's going to say.


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Ruth Lovejoy's picture

very nice ode to mom but what's up with dad, did he leave?