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!”

Mom: “DO NOT SAY ANYTHING TO [BROTHER]!”

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!

Want to read the next story? Click here!

Want to read the roundup? Click here!

1 Thumbs
272