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Don’t Be A Sour Oedipus

, , , , , | Related | June 3, 2016

(It’s the Saturday before Mother’s Day. I’m at work texting my mom. Earlier that week for Mother’s Day, my brother wrote a poem for my mom comparing her to the sweet part of a cookie and my dad to the crumbling, burnt part.)

Mom: “[Brother] saw my [High School] senior picture today and looked dumbfounded. He says, ‘Mom, you were hot!’ He is on fire with Mom’s Day…”

Me: “And thus [Brother]’s Oedipus Complex emerges. Now he must repress his urges to kill Dad.”

Mom: “Well, that poem he wrote…”

Me: “He compares you to a sugar cookie and Dad to a crumbling, burnt one and thought you looked hot — hot as a teen. I think [Brother] has repressed urges to kill Dad and hook up with you. Oh, God, this is hilarious! Freud was right all along!”


Me: “Can I at least warn Dad of his impending death?”

(Later that day I showed my brother this text exchange. He thought it was hilarious.)

This story is part of our Poetry roundup!

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