When Your Mother Plays Accordion

Paul Molyneux

When your mother plays accordion and your father's into rock,
The daily practice sessions hit you like electric shock.
Their dedication's endless, as professional's must be,
But their lengthy preparations may soon be the death of me.
For while they're practicing away, without a care or worry,
I must protect the premises from neighbors' angry fury.
It's a lonely, sad existence that one leads, around the clock,
When your mother plays accordion and your father's into rock.

Dad's drumming really makes you mosh, there's no one more renowned.
Ma's playing with the Polka Pros, none better can be found!
Their talent's not the problem nor the subject of this verse;
But the major complication is the time they must rehearse.
The conflict of their chosen styles just hides their expertise
Making townsfolk slam their windows shut and call for the police.
It's a lonely, sad existence spurned by dweeb as well as jock,
When your mother plays accordion and your father's into rock.

My private life's a real mess.  I cannot find a girl
Who will be seen about with me, amidst the social whirl.
My nerves, they are in shambles; my concentration's gone;
I cannot study from the light of bonfires on our lawn
Now the maple trees in our front yard sport double effigy
Of Mom and Dad, run through with swords.  Spare me this legacy!
This topic's not been covered in the book by Dr. Spockó
When your mother plays accordion and your father's into rock.

To the God who rules the universe and holds it in his palm
I humbly pray that you will bless me with some peace and calm.
Send Mama gigs three nights a week and Dad the other four
And send both of them a long deserved six-month Asian tour.
For practice times, I do propose a soundproof booth solution
To quell the hostile neighbor crowd and stem the noise pollution.
For this, I'll ever faithful be and work amidst your flock,
Because my mother plays accordion and my father's into rock!

Published February, 1996 -- Wry Bred Magazine

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