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.
Valerie, first off, the skin thing is true( at least in my case )...
ReplyDelete...and I was 15 when I finally fought Pop back. It was then I had decided(part)of me future...
...you do well to provoke thought in me, lass ;)
Great poem Valerie. :)
ReplyDeleteThis is back to earth with a bump, after a Valentine's Day love fest!
ReplyDeletem not sure how i am supposed to feel at the end of this one...i started in one place and ended in another...
ReplyDeleteWhat a great poem :-)
ReplyDeleteWizz
What a poem....and sadly I am sure this is happening in some home right now.......:-) Hugs
ReplyDeletevery nicely done, val!
ReplyDeletecome getcher award...
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.
ReplyDelete