My mommy was a mother
Since before I was a brother
To my sister, and she kissed her
And tucked her into bed.
Then my mommy had another
(That was me), and then no other;
She was done, and though now I’m fun
Back then we cried ‘til fed.
And feed us well my mother did,
Both me and that darn other kid,
And I’ve attested she never rested
‘Til we kids were satisfied.
Then we got bigger and less cute;
One could walk and one could scoot,
After baby-proofing and pillow floofing
She probably wanted to hide.
Alas, we found her hiding places
And made her wipe our snotty faces.
She loved us still, despite the thrill
Having long since departed.
And then we started going to school,
Which meant less time mopping our drool.
With phlegmless floors she still did chores
As we laughed and said “I farted.”
And even when my sister was bad
(I never was, just ask our dad)
With grace and calm she’d slap her palm
Anywhere but on our faces.
When we got big and pubescent
She gave us the finest present
Like love and stuff, always enough
Yet gave us private spaces.
And oh the years of meals she cooked,
Though overworked and overlooked!
Oh the the years and sweat and tears
Endured by her for us! She
Will be remembered evermore,
For all of this, but even more:
She inspired my art. She’s old, but not a fart.
I end this poem thusly.