One day, way back when
When the world was more blue
And lots less real, mommy had this job.
It was crappy, made her crabby,
And we all hated it. So one day,
I told her to call in dead.
She did, figuring it would be hard
For them to argue. She said there was
This silence, and then they hung up.
But then the social workers came
In their cheap suits and polyester smiles
And lawyers and the executor of the will
And family and friends and flowers
For funeral arrangements.
No matter what mommy told them,
They still thought she was dead.
I laughed, and I laughed: I was a kid,
It's what we do. But I never found out
What became of mommy, where she went,
If she really ever died. Looking back from now,
Though, it was still pretty funny.
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