The Day I Was the Parent
The day I was the parent still gives me a heady rush
“I could do better” ‘s what I thought, Mom sneezed, then gave a huff
“I don’t wanna cook!” she fussed, throwing down the loaf of bread
Her lower lip began to quiver, her eyes were turning red
“Mom,” I scolded harshly, not willing to appease her
“You have to cook. How will we eat? Please pull yourself together!”
But Mother threw a tantrum then, with kicking, crying, screaming
I didn’t know quite what to do. Just what was Mother scheming?
Father came home grumpy too, threw his keys down to the floor
I ordered him to pick them up, but he stomped out, slammed the door
Dinner still not cooked I tried as best as I was able
To warm some soup and place three bowls upon our dining table
“What is it?” Mom demanded. “Eww, I’m not eating this!”
She took a big sip anyway than spat it in the dish
“Come back here now!” I yelled to her; that sneer invoked my wrath
But Mother hid all night from me, didn’t even take her bath
My father too, refused to eat, bathe, or pick up keys
But just when I could take no more, there came a low, faint sneeze
“That’s it! You two are grounded for a year –No, make it two!”
“Excuse me?” Mom poked out her head. “I hope I didn’t hear you!”
Copyright 2011 Laurie E. Still
