14 February 2010

Grown-up Kids

Kids, mutters Dad

from the depths of his bed

No gratitude these days

Let it be said

When I was a young ’un

with nought but a penny

It was woe betide me

If I cried like a ninny

Come on, said Mom

Let’s not be hasty

The young ’un’s

looking really pasty

Says Dad, see him winking

Under that sheet

My guess is he’s

picking the skin on his feet

I’ve told him, and told him

To leave well alone

He’ll have sore feet for certain

As hard as a stone

Mother said, I think he’s ailing

Aye he’s ailing, right enough

If he don’t soon behave

He’ll get a quick cuff.

The kid, hearing all

Dreams up a plan

He’ll challenge his Dad

To a fight, if he can

A fisticuffs fight

Rowdy and wild

He’ll show the old man

He’s no longer a child

Stop, cried Mother

Laughter subsiding

Thinking her young un’s

In for a hiding

How could she know

The son she had bred

Had the future mapped out

Inside his young head

Father and son

Aimed blows thick and fast

Neither one worried

Who ended up last.


  1. Valerie, first off, the skin thing is true( at least in my case )...

    ...and I was 15 when I finally fought Pop back. It was then I had decided(part)of me future... do well to provoke thought in me, lass ;)

  2. This is back to earth with a bump, after a Valentine's Day love fest!

  3. m not sure how i am supposed to feel at the end of this one...i started in one place and ended in another...

  4. What a poem....and sadly I am sure this is happening in some home right now.......:-) Hugs

  5. very nicely done, val!

    come getcher award...

  6. Me and the old man came to blows when I was 18. Looking back I was completely in the wrong and just a selfish, snot-faced teenager. Thanks again for sharing your literary skills with us. Great stuff as usual.


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