We find our nest repopulated
Tranquility has changed to hubbub.
Summer's here and kids are home.
“Where are my shoes? Can't find my phone!”
Four settings now at dinner table.
But every dish has something icky.
How could my kids turn out so picky?
One loathes mushrooms and one hates kale.
Himself is hard enough to please
so kids subsist on grilled cheese.
And now I know my summer fate
is scraping dried cheese from greasy plates.
And when I'm not washing their dishes,
They've enumerated their wishes.
It's on my way to work they know
so there's a list for Trader Joe's.
Their daily needs are always ample
I'll gain a ton just from the samples.
We’ve got the bills for Fall tuition.
The increase is quite out of sight.
And our scholars share the same affliction.
They can't turn off a light.
We would suggest some gainful job
or at least to be less of a slob
but they are deaf
to these gentle requests,
as the house shakes to the sub-woofer's throb.
I guess it's a young person's quirk.
When I'm at home they're mostly tired,
'cause their schedule resembles a vampire's.
They rise as I return from work.
My drive is filled with dark foreboding
of Trader Joe's bags alone unloading.
Their good grades, they think, confers an entitlement
to return to the nest
and indulge in some rest.
They don't want to hear their mom bray.
But now that I'm old and gray,
I've got a bit of enlightenment.
This won't be a summer of languor.
They'll not have to fear just my anger.
They'll be smote where it's near and it's dear.
The parental wallet is closed.
This isn't too bad they suppose
until they've no moola for beer.
I promised myself not to be a nag.
After all, they're not with us too long.
I'll hit their room with Lysol and trash bags
but I'll cry my eyes out when they're gone.