Queen Bee Blues
"My son is blessed," she said. "His perfect wife
obeys him like she should. She's quick to clean
and cook. He is her prince. My daughter's life
turned out much worse. We thought she'd be a queen
but dismally, the scoundrel that she found
demands she scrub the house. Each night she cooks
just like a French gourmet, then waits around
on tenterhooks, until his finger crooks.
My younger son, poor dear, married a shrew.
He works two jobs, yet still finds time to bring
her daily gifts. She spends his pay on new
chic clothes and shoes. We'd dreamed he'd be a king.
My last child, lucky girl, wed someone who
works seven days a week at his buffet.
She now has jewels and furs, more than a few,
and soon she'll be a patron of ballet.
Two good, two bad; no mom should ever see
her children's fortunes break and come to grief.
I've prayed no child of mine would ever be
the sad and ransacked lackey of a thief. "
On hearing this I thought, " She's lost her grip.
Each loser is some other mother's child.
Is only her brood fit to crack the whip? "
But when I asked her this, she only smiled.