I wrote a poem to my son – he thinks it’s hilarious

You didn’t even cry.

Just hunkered there in my arms

blinking with meek lids

staring

as if to say,

‘Is this the right place?’

Maybe it isn’t.

Maybe it is.

But there we were, the newest of companions.

If nothing else,

you were swift to stake your claim.

That time you loosed your little bowels

in my hands.

The dinner you gave back

while in bed

on my face

twice.

When you loosed expletives

at the bedroom door

as if it were a bartender

denying you a beverage.

The time you leapt headlong

into the filthy water

and nearly died

but came out laughing.

Your odd disdain for corn.

Your completely understandable hatred

of Mondays.

Your well-aimed,

tiny yet formidable

fists.

When you asked me

whether bubble gum counts as dessert.

The way food touching

pretty much causes

the end of the world.

Eccentricities, some might say.

The building bricks

of a child

one day a man.

Not to me.

These are the foibles of a friend.

The wisest sage among

little boys

the world has ever known.

*

*

*

*

For more words, find me here. 

J Edward Neill

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.