I have one
more thing to say
About an
obnoxious journal entry
From when I
was eight . . .
My younger
siblings never had a chance
To have a
normal mother
I am sure
that after I came through
And said
the things I was prone to say
(Just
because I thought it was funny)
She really,
probably, gave up
I know I am
about to
The only
difference between us
Is that I was
the first in line
While my precocious
spawn
Came along
last in the set
When I am already tired
And old and fat
And, oh yeah, did I mention tired?
So, when I
sit and watch Ezra
Jump from
one bed to another
And do
flying kicks at the couch
Followed by
an aerial 360 spin to a pile driver
To running
50 laps in a 5 foot circle
All accompanied
by an endlessly hollered
Cacophonous
original composition
With
lyrics that include
As many off
color concepts
As he can
get in
Before we
yell at him
At which
point we are graced
With a
parting shout of “Butt-face!”
All I can
do is shake my head and think
Well,
I guess I deserve this
For ruining
the nice lady
That my
mother probably was
Back
before she made the mistake
Of welcoming
me into the world
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