As we approach that day again, this is an alternative view …
We are surrounded by them –
we are force-fed them
by a blinkered, unthinking media
hell-bent on filthy lucre:
pink and fluffy asinine clichés,
the disposable, multi-use phrases
that bedeck cards and gifts.
Like Christmas, there is that
insidious pressure to conform,
unquestioningly obey the ritual;
and we put her on a pedestal,
to be ‘the happy family’!
What if pink is the wrong colour
– dark grey the cruel truth –
and the candy-floss dissolved,
long ago, into a soggy, sickly,
What if she was the source of
constant pain, emotional damage
the ongoing battle with insanity/sanity.
What if she manipulated, triangulated,
got drunk on sympathy?
What if she wasn’t caring?
What if she wasn’t my best friend?
What thought do you all spare
for those who don’t have
“the best mum in the world”?
© Elfstone 2/3/16
(I very, very rarely alter/edit a poem but, for some reason that I can’t understand, I suddenly felt that this one needed to be re-worked. if you are interested, the first version was posted here a year ago under the title “The Best”.)
© Elfstone 2023
Yes real experiences, sad to say, which I am only now (too late I fear) coming to terms with. As always, Gothicman, your comment is full of insight. My thanks. Elfstone