i am sure i am too tired to write this. but, as some of my readers know, i push on. it's just that. who knows what will happen tomorrow? and on mother's day i was being rudely manhandled by the world at large. i had planned, while plying my trade on the boardwalk to post this on mothers day.
it may outrage you or you may find it interesting.
so here it is for what it is worth. and i know my brother will vilify me. the sins of the father are visited upon the sons.
mother's day 2007, written in the broad light of day on the venice beach boarwalk.
i had a mother her name was sin
she said " boy, you'll never win."
"you'll trade your children's mother
for the love of another
and that other's name is gin.
and my mother was a vision
of perfect love and loveliness
i lived for her and her caress.
her hair was a buttercup
her eyes a meadow green
and when she washed the dishes
how heavenly she'd sing.
when on the battlefield of 'HAUT CUISINE',
the kitchen seemed a harried scene
sometimes she seemed to me real mean.
when i'd just stand with dreamy stare
"oh, darling boy, you know i care,
but damn!", she'd say, " get out of my hair."
and then i painted the mother and child in a past post.
and she was right about everything.