The Colossal Mom*
Not like the cover model of Vogue or Elle,
With skinny limbs draped with designer clothes,
Here, in the ankle-high filth shall stand
A tired woman with a diaper bag, the murky depths
Of which no one wants to plumb, and her name
Mother. Just Mother. From her dishpan hand
Flow everlasting snacks; her wild eyes command
The cramped dwelling that children and husband inhabit.
"Keep, orderly homes, your fabled peace!" cries she
With chapped lips. "Give me your tired, your cranky,
Your frantic toddlers longing to scale walls,
The pitiful savages I call my children.
Send these, the crazy, reason-impaired to me,
I open my arms beside the pile of dirty laundry!"
