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(Paul Inkles/Getty Images/iStockphoto)
(Paul Inkles/Getty Images/iStockphoto)

A Mother's Lament

A Mother's Day ode to sons and cars Add to ...

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?

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