Jun. 17th, 2017

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Оригинал здесь

After one of my mom's usual sermons
over fish with them baked brussels sprouts
(and just for the record , that is like my least favorite food)
she yells at my face - don't you dare lie, you were at your father's,
you know I can see you right through!

Me be like - who? me? at my dad's? no, mom, I would never!
and she grabs me by scruff like some pup that pissed in her shoe,
seething - oh yeah? where were you
when you said you are going to Ernie's?
I talked to his mom, she says she saw nothing of you!

There I pretend to cave in,
like "you got me!", in guilty defiance -
guys made a raft at the river, I'm sorry, now stop with that fuss!
but she's crying already - of course, that's his bullshitty parlance.
Even your meaningless sorry vibrates just like his always does.

You think I'm what, deaf? You think, I can't hear it?
His trashy adverbs, his puns that you pick up like fleas?
He crippled himself, now he seeks to make you a cripple,
he's seeing you just for the pleasure of messing with me!

Then I am grounded, she's sad, we're talking around this matter,
air is thick like molasses and silence is pressing my spine.
Me ain't no poet, mom, really,
don't fret, it ain't gonna happen,
I swear I'll write with no rhyme.

them words inside be instantly flashing
morale beguile sublime
three-dime deny lifeline

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