She Said, He Not So Much – a poem

My father hardly spoke.
My mother never quit.
I’ve grown up with this yoke
all because of it.

You want to say it all
like your mama did
but then you get the call
to keep it all hid.

The trick is in the way
you sit the nest
of what you have to say
to say it best,

or if not best than better
than whatever comes to mind,
you try to say what matters
and leave the rest behind.

So thank you Mom and Dad
for the Spratt-like thing you did
in the way you got it said
all the days that you were wed.

Put one and one together
and this is what you get;
it’s just I don’t know whether
or what to make of it.

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