The @#*&% Diet

My girlish figure of yesteryear (Whom I usu’lly ignore) Said, most plaintively, “Tell me, dear, What is it we stand for?” “I speak, you see, of floors and scales, Left groaning down below. I speak of knees and lig’ment wails When standing on our soles.” Surprised, I peered ’round var’yous parts, To ‘xamine scale and toes. … More The @#*&% Diet

A Poem About Socks

Hanes and co. They have my sole Or I have theirs (It’s hard to know) The point is that we’ve little dough Because, although, I tell them, “No!” My boys will blow Socks through the toes Because they grow And I can’t sew Darn it.

If Only…

“If only, if only,” the young mother sighs, “I did all the chores;” there’s hope in her eyes. She washes and foldses and relocates toys. She vacuums and bleaches and separates boys. “If only, if only,” the young mother shouts, “You’d not kill your brother when I’m not about.” She wrestles and time-outs and wait till … More If Only…