Never Say Oof to Your Mum

Morning light. Through the kitchen window. She asks you to help.

But you're slow. You mumble oof when she asks you to lend a hand. But the words hang

heavy. Like a stone on a shelf. Cold and grand. She doesn't say

a thing. Just sighs and turns away. But I see the hurt in her eyes.

Like a quiet rain. Dad used to say, boy, you better take care.

The hands that rock the cradle, they hold a world fair. Never say oof to

your mum, no. God don't like that. It's a sin, you know.

Respect is the key. It's the least you can do. Heaven lies at her feet.