Mothers Who Don’t Understand – Augusta Skye

‘Why can’t you tidy your room?’ they cry,
Millions of mothers who fret round the land,
‘It’s a horrible mess, I’ve never seen worse,’
– Mothers who don’t understand.

They don’t understand how cosy it is
To have piles of books on the floor,
And knickers and socks making friends with the vest
Under the bed, where they like it best,
And notices pinned to the door.

They don’t understand why Kylie and Craig
Are smiling all over the walls,
And toffees and Chewys and dozens of Smarties
Are scattered about reminding of parties,
And jeans are rolled into balls.

They don’t understand why a good bed should be
All scrumpled and friendly and gritty,
Why the bears and the paints and the toys are much less
Easy to find if there isn’t a mess –
To tidy would be a great pity.

They don’t understand the point of a desk
Is to balance the muddle quite high:
To leave the drawers open, grow mould on the drink,
Is very much easier, some people think,
Than explaining to mothers just why.

‘PLEASE can you tidy your room?’ the wail,
Millions of mothers who fret round the land:
‘What will you do when there’s no one to nag you?’
– Mothers who don’t understand.

Leave a Reply