Momma Said Be Nice

Chris Kads

This poem was originally published in Blood+Honey Lit mag and is being republished with SHINE International Poetry Series.

You don’t expect to serve mashed potatoes and steak for breakfast.

Don’t expect to find urine in a tub

or to have sympathy

for the assaulter

who pissed in it.

I’ve learned

to let expectations fly

like ashes.

When the men retire

so do the rules

instilled by their mothers.

They’ll swim

in the deep end

of the pool,

tiptoe into the kitchen,

sneak a cookie

after bedtime.

I know now

that two things

can be true at once.

That the mush

can be unappetizing

and filling.

That a room

can be full of memories

and empty of soul.

That you can pity the mouse

in the trap, while being glad

he can no longer bite.

I don’t like the way

it all went down.

I wouldn’t wish

a life behind curtained bars

on anyone.

But when we finally

remove flesh-colored food,

scrub stains from the ceramic tub,

and open the door

for the new resident,

I’m happy to see

it’s a woman.

More from Chris Kads ↓

• @chris_kads on Instagram
• Chris runs Gut Punch Prompts, a twice monthly poetry challenge on Instagram looking for poems that contain visceral language, raw emotion, and/or thought-provoking political and social commentary. In other words, poems that pack a punch!