Sunday

Daddy wore a smile,
Mama wore that dress.
He wears out the soles of his boots;
Ma, she sang the blues.
Children lined up,
In Sunday’s best.
I always loathed that itchy vest.
Dinner is on the table,
Getting cold.
Mama faked a smile,
He sends his apologies.
Daddy out of the picture,
Torn to pieces.
Good news is no more Sunday’s bests,
No more itchy vests.