Friday, June 19, 2009


Billy came home from the funeral,
burying his mother;
all the family had gathered there,
consoling one another.
I'll take care of her things, he promised,
not knowing what he'd discover;
later wished he'd left it to
his sister or his brother!

He looked in his mother's closet,
wondered why she had
all those shiny high-heeled boots,
why she went leather-clad.
Always thought she was a saint,
turned out she was bad;
made him think quite differently
about his dear old Dad!

Mom the Dom
had whips and chains!
Mom the Dom
dealt in pain!
She was mistress
of her slaves;
Mom the Dom
made them behave!

There was a box of riding crops,
some manacles, a mask;
Poor Billy gulped and took another
swallow from his flask.
It seemed that she was used to getting
whatever she would ask,
and woe be to the man who might
not be up to the task!

Turned out that there was a lot
he had never known --
Mom had ruled with an iron fist,
a queen upon her throne.
She had a list of abject subs,
speed-dialed on her phone;
Mom the Dom got what she wanted
and she was bad to the bone!

Mom the Dom
was hard to please!
Mom the Dom
had them on their knees!
Who was this woman
he thought he knew?
Mom the Dom...
could it be true?

Stephen Brooke ©2009

A very, very silly idea for a song...I guess 'Mom the Dom' isn't quite as good a phrase as 'I saw your Mommy and your Mommy is dead!' (by Suicidal Tendencies for those who weren't into Punk in the 70s) but everyone should write a song about mothers, right? ;)

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