Home

Your home is where you hang your hat,

Or so it's often said,

But when I'm home I'd rather hang,

With my kids instead.

We live alone here now, you see,

Since their father died,

And mostly we can get along,

And God knows how I've tried.

But creditors and landlords tend,

To think in terms of cash,

Instead of that which mothers do,

And make treasure from trash.

I want enough to live upon,

And extras for the kids,

I don't mind working hard at all,

But sometimes life forbids.

Look, I am a single mom,

Both Mom and Dad to them,

I hold their lives within my hands,

But moms the world condemns.

"You should have saved," they say, aghast,

"Lived not above your means!"

Well, sure I should have, yes, it's true,

But let's not go to extremes.

This is my home, my life, my place,

It's where I raise my teens,

It's where I go when I am tired,

That's not beyond my means.

My home's a mobile one, you see,

Though never does it travel,

This home sits here upon this space,

Lest our lives unravel.