When I was coming up
momma and daddy both said
"Finish your plate, son. Eat the rest!"
More often than not there'd be something
I didn't like, or didn't like enough
and momma or daddy one would say
"Finish your plate. Eat the rest!"
I'd eat a little more, ask to be excused,
momma or daddy would see my remnants
"Eat the rest, child! Eat the rest!"
I'd eat a bit more. "May I be excused?"
"Listen to me, son, you best eat the rest!"
So I'd sit there, pitiful like, and eat the rest.
Reflecting on this, I am keenly aware
proponents on both sides argue 'beware'
Forcing a child to always finish their plate
can lead to obesity's worrisome fate
But letting them stop whenever they want
selfishly teaches life's lessons to flaunt
It doesn't matter which side you're on
I'll agree with you so let's move on
There's a deeper darker side to this
that I need to mention lest I be remiss
After year's of being told to eat the rest
is it possible I actually consumed "my rest"?
The rest I seek when I try to take a nap
The rest I pursue when I wear my CPAP
The rest that eludes me at work or at play
The question my wife asks me every day:
"Honey, were you able to get any rest?"
No, dear. When I was a kid, I was forced to
finish my plate and eat the rest, so there's
none to be found. I done ate it all.
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
8/4/2020 - Poetry form: Narrative - The ramblings of a man raised by a momma from the South and a daddy from the North ;) - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
