A poem about families
It’s always a youngster or a brat
talking back to mom playing smart
what makes you go saying “nah”.
But then long-legged old dad
playing races with teenage daughter
makes you stop and wonder.
Maybe it’s really not that bad.
Young mother playing with her baby.
What a sweet loud high pitch laughter
while I try to fall asleep hear nearby.
Makes me want to have one to look after.
Loving grandma brushing the white hairs
still standing in her reading husband’s head.
I would climb a thousand tall steep stairs
to reach someone who’d for me like that care.
Old talkative lady with her photo album
found your help to release her energy. Boom!
And you see her “biutiful” big house
and biutiful tables she proudly sets
and her biutiful son and where she works
as a police and her biutiful wife he got
and the biutiful sons of her son and other son
… Wait, aren’t they also her daughters?
I can’t tell apart the thousand toddlers…
And this grandson is so “biutiful”, oh her son!
And for her every one of them is her sun.
And it really is all familiar lovingly beautiful.
It’s so nice to see it works for some.
Makes you wonder if you’ll ever
get lucky(?) enough to be one of those.
