Blame is such a
Contagious malady
It doesn't surprise me
That in our time
We both contracted
Terminal cases

I stopped being
Your son when I
Passed out at the reception
Spilling the pulpy remains
Of my 18th Mimosa
All over the table
While people were tapping
Glasses to makes speeches

You stopped being my
Mother when you
Told me you weren't
Making my birthday dinner
That you had made me for
26 years every August
Because it was more
Of a winter dish

You were my
Best friend when Dad
Was off banging his blonde
On business trips
When your daughter
Was off at college
Smoking *** and
Playing soccer on
A scholarship  

Inevitably
All things that make
Sense must be
Adulterated by something
That doesn't

It's a shame that
You had to seek that
Something out