I never was my mother’s favorite kid.
She harped at me more often than she kissed.
She made a hero of her son my sib,
but Mother was a classic narcissist.

My oldest nephew seems to share my fate:
his mama never favored him – she sunk
his star beneath his brother’s angry freight,
but she was daily vain and nightly drunk.

If I composed a fable out of this,
the moral might surprise and make you glad.
For now we know the curses in the kiss
of doting damaged parents, sore and sad.
We both matured to swans. We won’t forget
the evils that engulf an asshole’s pet.