And Now You Know Why I Never Made it as a Poet.

Written 1982.  Never titled.  :-)

You may be in pain,

But at least you're still sane,

And don't have migraine,

Or disease of the brain.

I'll bring you a cane

Or some aspirin, a grain,

Or a shot in your vein

So your hurting will wane.

If this is a drain,

And your nerves have a strain,

Remember Paul's refrain

That to die would be gain!

"The King"

 I found some old writings yesterday.  This is from March 1989 when my son was 4-5 months old.

THE KING

He is the king, and he knows it.  Why else would he have the audacity to lie awake in my arms at 6:30 in the morning, cooing, laughing, and making bubbling noises with his formula?  He probably even thought to himself, "Now I know that if I weren't around, my chief lady-in-waiting would never be awake this early, so I'll prove that I'm the one authority who can mover her out of bed."  And his gurgles and happy sounds are the proofs of his power.

He know that the right squeal or cry will bring one of his two principal subjects running to figure out his royal request.  And he knows that when we venture out into public, the general populace will press upon him, exclaiming his every virtue, while he sits in his privileged throne (stroller by definition) and decides which one of the masses will be the recipient of the royal smile he might choose to bestow.

Some days I think maybe I should set this self-appointed ruler straight.  I should tell him, "Look, sir, we got along fine before you came along, and life was a whole lot simpler then.  In fact, a year and a half ago you weren't even a gleam in our eyes, and the world ran just great without your royal presence!"  

But I never will.  One never makes such disrespectful remarks to a king.