Morning 9 - The 3:15 Experiment

Housework it is never done
it gets in the way of so much fun
There’s often a dish in the sink
if my son needs to clean it, it causes a kink

I can get the work done
it’s a matter of time
Holding my son responsible
is like accusing him of a crime

Just a simple task, a sweeping
to clear up what’s on the floor
Becomes a deep, mean insult
and he’ll even up the score

Couldn’t it be that he’s 14
and he’s going thru puberty
Or is he destined here for slacking
past the year of thirty-three

Is it conjured in pure malice
the fact that he won’t clean a spoon
He completes a job so rarely
I think once on the last blue moon

So we battle and we scuffle
and we bout and I give in
He is growing in such a hurry
He’s almost growing out of his skin

To carry any anger
Or an animosity in anyway
Is like wasting the too short moments
already running faster everyday

I’ll be looking at a man soon
living his life the way he will be
He’ll make choices on his own then
without a word being said by me

Day’s end the chores are finished
it wasn’t easy but this is true
The boy that I have bickered with
everything about him grew

I love my son ... 8/9 @ 3:38