Set in a mould soon after birth
And damaged by a winning strategy
She flies off to bizarre extremes
Should family even seem to disagree.
“You hate me, don’t you? Wish me dead
Out of your way. I should have realised
That nothing I can do will ever please.
For what thanks do I get? Just criticised.”
She spews her bile with endless variations
Unfounded are her charges but no joke.
Fire-faced her anger, crockery, fists fly
‘Til hubby fears she’s going to have a stroke.
‘Twould be his fault since taking blame’s his role.
“She’s had a gut’s-full of his snide attack.
So he can raise the girls all by himself
She’s leaving and this time she won’t be back.”
That’s how her mother always played the hand,
She took no crap. She made the bastards pay.
The girls in turn are learning how to cope
Once Mum has scoured their self-esteem away.