Classic Poem

Of course I pray for Mommy's health.
She fixes every meal.
I bless my sister—Mom insists—
though sometimes I conceal

an off-the-record prayer inside
the prayer my parents hear:
That Sister get a chronic rash—
well, chronic and severe.

But most of all I pray that God
keep Daddy safe and well,
that all the charges be dismissed
and that his used cars sell.

Make Daddy confident and glib
and keep his handshake firm
so when it's time to close the deal
the suckers never squirm.

Lord, keep Dad's commissions high
so I won't have to kneel
with nose to grindstone, ear to ground,
and shoulder to the wheel.

I couldn't work in that stance, Lord,
or polish pitted chrome.
As much as I love bacon, Lord,
let Daddy bring it home.











From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 186, no. 4, July/August 2005. Used with permission.