Boxes of chocolate and flowers leer at me at us from the shelves,
They know we haven't been the children we should be,
But that we can make it up by buying stuff.
The American way.
I search through racks of cards,
Roll my eyes at bad jokes, sappy poems,
And picturesque black and white images
I can't find anything appropriate.
Hallmark just doesn't make cards that say
"Hey mom, it's okay,
I forgive you for being a drunk.
Just fucking stay out of my life."