To my darling sons on Mother’s Day:
I do not want perfume, or a Mom figurine;
I just want my car back, and preferably clean.
Please take out the sneakers that smell in the back;
Please find that bag that still holds a Big Mac.
I know that filling the tank isn’t really that hard;
It’s easier still when you use my card.
Why didn’t someone mention that squeak?
I haven’t driven the thing in more than a week.
You probably read somewhere I’d like a red rose;
It’s May; I’d prefer you just take off the snows.
I don’t know what that stain is – no, do not say.
Sometimes not knowing is still the best way.
I went to buy coffee just last week.
Why was the change situation so bleak?
I put loonies in there nearly every day
But they all become pennies when I look away.
You move all the mirrors, you alter the seat.
My car has odd scratches; it still smells like feet.
A screwed up alignment – what, nobody knew?
I see you’re born politicians, both of you.
I can’t find my glasses, my brush or my pen.
And you changed all the radio settings – again.
Aw, I love you both, you know that... wait, geez.
Which of you brats has now lost my keys?