Nothing Seems Wrong poem.

"NOTHING" SEEMS WRONG

My children were raised
with mismatched chairs,
color and pattern
and nothing in pairs.

I piled up pillows
on painted iron beds,
used hand-me-down sofas.
Each decade was fed.

Our friends came over
with compliments, raves.
They sunk into comfort.
To heck with "Feng Shui"

Lamps poured warmth
over pictures and books.
Low lights fool the eye--
give a "dusted" look.

But what did I do?
I must have gone wrong!
My sons and their wives
sing a different song.

---------------------------->

"Minimalism"
is the trend of the day.
If they have it, it's used
and then put away.

Their floors are shiny
and mirror a style
of clean lines, muted colors,
nothing crazy and wild.

They buy their few pieces
at Pottery Barn.
A yard sale item?
Interference!, major harm!

I must have done something
to cause them such fear,
such trauma and burden
to bear through the years.

But we can't talk about
heavy memories they lug.
They go deep, just as deep
as an orange shag rug.

Janet Brice Parker, 2003