dear you before you take my mother out after work keep her for three and a half more hours than she would usually be please remind her that she isn’t like you and has a family at home waiting for her with hungry bellies and open arms
please remind her that she has a son that has literally not seen her for three days he needs her and he wants to know why she can’t even look at him he needs to know where his mother went the one that used to let him wear his favorite purple footie pajamas and rainboots as they walked down to the store for ice cream bars and held him when the nightmares got too bad
dear you before you take my mother out after work and send her home in your bright orange jacket reeking of you and liquor please remind her that she has a husband who has loved her for seven years even though she continually drove him away she has a husband whose eyes light up when he sees her she has a husband who broke down his barriers so he could hug her and hold her close without that ever-present fear of her slipping away again
please remind her how happy he makes her how happy she makes him and the house that he lived in alone for so long is finally more than just a shelter against the elements it is a home but it can’t be that without her
dear you before you take my mother out after work please remind her to at least call her son or her husband to tell them that she won’t be home to make dinner and that her son will get to eat a store bought dinner for the second night in a row and then it just sits there and stares at him screaming that she isn’t at home
please remind her that she has people to come home to a husband a daughter and a son
please remind her that she has a family ****** and we need her
please remind her that even though she can’t look her son in the eye anymore he will always need his mother
please remind her that even though the liquor is warm in her she has a son at home that is so sick and tired of raising himself
There we go! An edited, more realistic poem. Because, I haven't voluntarily hugged my mother in years. And, I've never been one for that whole touchy feely thing. I hold grudges. I hold my broken edges tight.