Middle of the night I step to the right
Ow! A little lego piece pierces my skin
Then early morn I stumble for coffee
That darned lego’s brother attacks again
With children my pain comes not from sassiness
ar stubbornness, or making a mess
Its not the unflushed toilets, although that
admittedly brings a gagging reflex
Its not refusal to eat broccoli or to
pee before bed.
... Its the attack of children’s crap when I walk
that can bring the most dread.
Hot Wheels & Barbies, plus her brushes & combs
attack me in the evening gloam
Plastic swords, guns and knives
seemingly come alive
and swarm like angry bees
bringing me too my knees
At 3 a.m. all I wanted was water
but defeated back to my bed I totter
And yet, I only curse for a sec, even
though it hurts like heck
Because those plastic hunks of crap
are the trail of crumbs on the map
that leads to their diminutive masters
The tyrants of my night-time stepping disasters.
For every stabbing pain lets me know
that under this roof love continues to grow.