I literally haven’t tried writing a poem since college. But for some reason I felt that I wanted to today. I have no idea how to really do it anymore, but I thought I would try anyway. It seems somewhat juvenile in its style, but that’s kind of where I’m at in my poem-writing abilities apparently. So be it.


This morning, as I was reading Proverbs
with my cup of coffee at the dining room table,
my kids ran around the room.
Surrounding my Bible were pieces of mail,
food wrappers, and crumbs, and toys,
(and a dirty plate from who knows when.)
They sat there glaringly in front of me and asked,
“How can you read when your house is a mess?
There are things to be done. You don’t have time for this now.
Get on with it, and get on with it now.
It’s something you must do.”

At noon, as I was singing a song with my boys,
from the kitchen came a chorus
of dirty pots and pans.
They chimed in with a boystrous voice,
“We’re still here! Your house is a mess!
You need to clean us,
to be a good husband, to be a good father,
it’s something you must do.”

In the afternoon, as I read a book with my sons,
the dirty laundry interrupted me to nag,
about the mounds and heaps
that needed my attention, saying
“The mountains are calling, they call you to come,
to wash, and to fold, and to do your day’s work.
It’s something you must do.”

And in the evening, we played outside
with our puppy, enjoying the early spring weather,
when all sorts of leaves were tossed up in the wind,
They howled and yapped at me saying,
“It’s not just your house that needs your attention.
Your yard sits waiting for you, too.
Rake it up, clean it up.
It’s something you must do.”

But I responded,

“Yes, yes. These tasks, these chores
they need to be addressed, it’s true.
But today, today!
I have priorities.
And today my priorities are not you.”

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