When I was coming up
momma and daddy both said
"Finish your plate, son.  Eat the rest!"
More often than not there'd be something
I didn't like, or didn't like enough
and momma or daddy one would say
"Finish your plate.  Eat the rest!"
.
I'd eat a little more, ask to be excused,
momma or daddy would see my remnants
"Eat the rest, child!  Eat the rest!"
I'd eat a bit more. "May I be excused?"
"Listen to me, son, you best eat the rest!"
So I'd sit there, pitiful like, and eat the rest.
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Reflecting on this, I am keenly aware
proponents on both sides argue 'beware'
Forcing a child to always finish their plate
can lead to obesity's worrisome fate
But letting them stop whenever they want
selfishly teaches life's lessons to flaunt
.
It doesn't matter which side you're on
I'll agree with you so let's move on
There's a deeper darker side to this
that I need to mention lest I be remiss
After year's of being told to eat the rest
is it possible I actually consumed "my rest"?
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The rest I seek when I try to take a nap
The rest I pursue when I wear my CPAP
The rest that eludes me at work or at play
The question my wife asks me every day:
.
"Honey, were you able to get any rest?"
.
No, dear.  When I was a kid, I was forced to
finish my plate and eat the rest, so there's
none to be found.  I done ate it all.
.
.
.
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Mark Toney © 2020
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8/4/2020 - Poetry form: Narrative
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The ramblings of a man raised by a momma from the South and a daddy from the North ;)