I love my mom, I really do,
but she can be so clueless.
When liverwurst is what she serves,
my mouth declares it's chewless.
She thinks a glob of mayonnaise
and mustard's all it takes
to mask the most unfortunate
of suppertime mistakes.
I normally don't mind some cheese --
I wouldn't even cower,
but she insists on pouring it
all over cauliflower.
She tries to dress her tuna up
in motherly devotion,
though I just wish her tuna fish
would jump back in the ocean.
But I forgive each time she's made
my churning stomach scream
when Mom serves up her specialty --
a sandwich of ice cream.
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