Had we but beer enough and time,
a lovely picnic were no crime.
We would char our burgers,catch
some rays, (I'll have to hide that batch
of cookies you call ginger snaps!)
and pass our stomachs' day with naps
and nips of grapes. But you brought the hissing
ogress--now, instead of kissing
and sipping my Merlot we'll have
to kow tow, suck up and behave
as if a goddess had stopped by.
In an hour you'll run off and cry.
I don't know about you, my dear:
I know the perfect foggy pier--
where she could take a healthful dip
with a concrete block we'd slip
around her neck. You think that's mean?
I think your so-called mom's obscene.
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