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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