Tag: Lincolnshire poet

I’m far from a perfect mum. I hardly ever wear make up, slob around in my pj’s, swear like a trooper and feed my kids McDonald’s fodder. So here’s a tribute to the other Stepford wife mums!

Shout Out to the Perfect Mums

Shout out to the perfect mums
Long bleached hair in pristine tousled curls
Face firmly fixed with your 100 quid foundation
Diamonds on fingers and dripping with pearls.
Lipstick, mascara, misrepresenting a nation
Of mums with faces of yesterday’s slap
Running mascara, like the legs of a spider
Lipstick smeared like a hospital trauma
Basically looking like a pile of crap.

The perfect mums in their 4×4’s
Gleaming metallics and pristine doors
Valeted everytime little Portia drops her dried fruit treat
No Happy meals of Burger King
Or nothing remotely good to eat.
Not one sign of a Mars Bar as it will rot her precious teeth
And Kettle Chips not Walkers Crisps
For us working class are beneath
The perfect mum.
A Stepford wife
A crazy robot fantasy wife
A healthy wife, a wealthy wife,
A look at you like you’re shit wife.

Shout out to the perfect mums
In their tailored designer Gucci suits
And Vivienne Westwood leather mules
And Dolce and Gabanna Chelsea boots
Which feel like walking on broken glass
With your nose in the air
And your notions of class
And don’t you know your ideals are crass?
While we real mums
We don our Primark pyjamas on the school run
A pair of Asda slippers gracing Our grossly swollen feet
From standing in the queue at the Job Centre
Universal Credit is noone’s Friday treat
Who gets dressed up for the foodbank?
The politicians and the Royal obsolete!

Shout out to the perfect mums
With their reward charts and positive reinforcement
While I am calling cops
To control my kids, the law enforcement.
Porsches for birthdays, horses for Christmas
Privileged kids with no idea of lack
While my naughty kid has to make do
With a few lumps of coal in his Santa sack.
Mini meals of quinoa, asparagus and olives
Drinking smoothies of coconut and kale
Annabelle Karmel’s children’s classics
Not Asda ready meals going cheap in the sale
Or mechanically churned up hotdog meat
Gut churning staples of the working classes.
Beans on toast or egg and chips
Feasts for the Universal Credit masses.

Bring on the Happy Meals,
Bring on the burgers
Bring on Ronald McDonald
And his underpaid workers.
Bring on the Burger King
Bring on the fries
Bring on the screaming toddlers crying out their eyes.
Bring on wardrobes from Primani
Bring on yesterday’s makeup
Bring on Jeremy Kyle
And cut that bloody cake up.

Shout out to the imperfect mothers
Making it through each goddam day
Struggling with their pitiful pennies
Until hallowed Universal Credit payday.
Hands up to beans on toast
And bacon, egg and chips
Hands up to chippy dinner
Mum’s a chip pan whizz
And donner kebab for tea.
And super noodle nights
We’re not the perfect mums
For really whoever is?

We will never have botox lips
Or liposuction hips
Champagne for dinner
Caviar on canopies
Holidays on grand cruise ships
But we are here and we are real
With our daytrips to Cleethorpes
And picnics in the park cos its free
Dreams of being the perfect mum
And sipping on ice tea
But its three bottles of Lambrusco
And a Chinese takeaway for tea.
And we don’t need no grandiose
It’s the little things
That make us
happy.
We are
Happy.

© Sarah Drury Poetry