Sometimes, after dinner, we would go walking
to indulge, just for fun, in some harmless stalking.
But when I saw a girl
worthy of a whirl
Mother would start––and never stop talking.

I begged her to stop. Or, once and for all,
I said I would pack, and move down the hall.
I really would rather
live with my father;
Mother was driving me up the wall.

That’s why my father initially moved out.
(It was her mouth. Really, not his gout).
She talked all the time
Without reason or rhyme,
Driving dad crazy, for years, there’s no doubt.

If only before moving with dad... I had known
that he, too, is a pain in my innominate bone,
(He talks of his gout
driving me up the spout)
I would have looked for a pad of my own.

***