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Mother’s Day Disasaster
Mother’s Day is always celebrated on the second Sunday in May, and since I usually post new poems on my website on Mondays, I started wondering what kind of poem would make sense to share the day after Mother’s Day. That’s when the title “Mother’s Day Disaster” popped into my head. The idea of everything going hilariously wrong on Mom’s special day made me laugh right away, so I knew I had to write it.
In this poem, the narrator tries hard to make Mother’s Day special, but every good intention somehow turns into a catastrophe instead. From terrible breakfasts to overflowing bubble baths to even bigger disasters, the day quickly spins completely out of control. This is…
Mother’s Day Disaster
Mother’s Day was yesterday.
I’m really glad it’s done.
The day was a disaster
when it should have just been fun.
I picked my mom some flowers
from her garden. She got mad.
The slimy scrambled eggs I made
were sickeningly bad.
The oatmeal in the microwave?
Oh, man, did it explode!
The bubble bath I drew for her?
The bathtub overflowed.
About the time I thought that things
could not get any worse,
I tripped and dumped a pot of coffee
straight into her purse.
The day was such a trainwreck
that I wrote this note to say,
my dad should be concerned because
next month is Father’s Day.
— Kenn Nesbitt
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By Kenn Nesbitt
4
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Mother’s Day is always celebrated on the second Sunday in May, and since I usually post new poems on my website on Mondays, I started wondering what kind of poem would make sense to share the day after Mother’s Day. That’s when the title “Mother’s Day Disaster” popped into my head. The idea of everything going hilariously wrong on Mom’s special day made me laugh right away, so I knew I had to write it.
In this poem, the narrator tries hard to make Mother’s Day special, but every good intention somehow turns into a catastrophe instead. From terrible breakfasts to overflowing bubble baths to even bigger disasters, the day quickly spins completely out of control. This is…
Mother’s Day Disaster
Mother’s Day was yesterday.
I’m really glad it’s done.
The day was a disaster
when it should have just been fun.
I picked my mom some flowers
from her garden. She got mad.
The slimy scrambled eggs I made
were sickeningly bad.
The oatmeal in the microwave?
Oh, man, did it explode!
The bubble bath I drew for her?
The bathtub overflowed.
About the time I thought that things
could not get any worse,
I tripped and dumped a pot of coffee
straight into her purse.
The day was such a trainwreck
that I wrote this note to say,
my dad should be concerned because
next month is Father’s Day.
— Kenn Nesbitt
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