Not Every Mother is a Saint
Cliche: the saintly, loving mother, she who nurses every wound,
And cheers one's efforts without judgement. That's not who
He's bolting from, he snorts, as he is driving home. The one
He's known throughout his life thinks little of his choice of lovers,
Criticizes what he's wearing, follows him around the house
To needle him incessantly with ill-conceived advice.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck

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Written on 2025-07-08 at 00:49




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