Mum flutters in her yellow frock
and butterfly bra. Makes me cringe.
The dad is larking in the park,
he bowls a bag of pick n 'mix.
I drop a dolly catch and litter
hearts under
Do not feed the ducks
Mum and new dad are hoisting sails.
I'm jetsam in the ebb and flow.
As Valentine's day approaches (is it unique to the US?) I remember the little, rather sickening sweet hearts with messages on them we exchanged in grade school. The girls retreated to a corner of the playground and tried to decipher greater meanings in those given to us by some class hearthrob.
As to your poem, I want to comment on how hard it hit me but I'm not certain I'm interpreting it correctly. I can relate "the mother" in this write as to my own. I will just say I grew up feeling I was a by-product of my mother's need to be "loved" by men and her constant competition with and distain for other women (of which I happen to be one)