Blood and Chocolate

A mother's clothes are rarely clean
so that to others it must seem
she has no class, no style, no grace,
but in truth the smears are from the face
of one or two or three young kids who
use her shirt when a napkin would do.

We're peed on, pooped on, barfed on too.
We'll clear a booger without a tissue.
When the clothes that are messy are not ours
we'd go from the Earth to the Moon to Mars
to stop the hurts and pains and grief.
The owie is just such a thief.

The baby's outfit is not neat
but a cuter girl you wouldn't meet.
The cookie from Target made a stain
of chocolate though I can't complain.
When the cookie makes the kids happy
and well-behaved I just get clappy.

Then at lunch the scab's rubbed off her nose
though it could be worse I suppose.
Her outfit is now spotted.
Blood and chocolate have dotted
her brand new this morning outfit.
You'd think I'd be used to this kind of sh!t.

When clothes are stained that are not my own,
when children cry and scream and moan,
I am too at once upset
I do not wish this pain and yet
the brown and red combined
makes me see I could not find
a better role though not the norm
the best of of life to be at home.