A record of a lonely and bitter mother scolding her son for picking up his estranged father’s bad habits at the breakfast table


You eat those Cheerios like they’re about to be rationed;
We used to chew our food if that’s so old-fashioned.


There was more gobble in that than on a turkey farm
That the Honey Monster himself would stand in alarm.


Don’t slouch on the seat or slurp on your tea,
And don’t hold that spoon like it was wriggling free.


You know you can eat your toast in more than a bite:
That strawberry jam isn’t about to ignite.


You drink your squash like you want to drown,
And you eat your Coco Pops before the milk goes brown.


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