When did the the economic determinists determine

That my job is useless

A Mother.

A lover you say?

Oh. That is au fait.

We can watch you. Admire.

Fan our thoughts with your fire.

No one need conspire.

A Lover!


A Mother.

A lover of sorts, but a lover of others.

My child and his brother

And sister.

Their cover’s

I fold and I parcel away

I wash and I hug and I listen

Make way

For their future

Well, a Mother.


I think we can work

With that. A glamorous image

I’ll contort like that.

No,  in my job like other’s

There are those that are above us

The peak of their preference

The have it all Mother.

She works

And she’s gorgeous

Bikini line


To her children she’s tender

To their clothes she’s a mender

She’s out with the girls

Dancing her elaborate swirls

That she learnt at her class

Where she master’s the art

Then it’s home to her house

And the Nanny walks out

After exchanging their greetings

They both love these meetings

Then she works

And she toils

Her sleep will be spoiled

But it doesn’t quite harm her

As she’s the Glamazon MOTHER.

But statistically speaking

There are a lot of us Mum’s

Who don’t earn big dollars

And we are soft around our bum’s.

But we love our dear children

We protect and we care

We bake, clean and baby sit

Feeling some boredom and despair.

The financial determinists

Have determined us null.

Even though it’s their lifeblood

We are raising through it all.

But I just want to say

From my frustrated perch

When you look at things wrong

You can’t determine worth

It’s like measuring water

With a ruler you see

As a Mum’s not about money

She makes life worthwhile, just for free.

About eatmystreet

Join in the joie de vivre.
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