One poem every day for twenty-eight straight days this February. Suffice it to say, I’m in my Poetry Era.
Alarm clock ringing
loudly across the bedroom.
5:10 comes too fast.
Kitchen light stings my
eyes never really rested.
The oven is set.
Lunches packed, breakfast
commences with groggy heads.
Breakfast rouses all.
7:00, out the door.
Kisses, hugs, see you later.
Another commute.
Work. Long hours spent
teaching teenagers all day.
Four o’clock is here.
Decompressing in
the driver’s seat, therapy.
Work ends, life begins.
Welcome home, children
ready to play for a bit.
Short break, then dinner.
In the bathroom, door
flung open, children enter.
Moment of peace gone.
The kitchen, my lair.
Chef, short order cook, and dad.
Everyone will eat.
Noodles on the floor,
dinner done, bellies happy.
Desserts start flying.
Bath time comes too soon.
Cleanup is torture unknown.
Time for bed arrives.
Bedtime, oh, bedtime.
Once each day, the day must end.
Their party starts now.
Exhausted, ready
to throw in the towel now.
Bed time one, dad zero.
Finally asleep,
I escape for moments few.
Sleep. For now, enough.
Bring Back Big Families 
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