Mama left me with her little angel
who morphed into a devil later on.
The kid defied me from every angle.
Why do they always wait till momma’s gone
to throw their tantrums, toss up their food,
fling their fragile toys, wet the bed and floor?
Why do they always pretend to be good
until their smiling momma’s out the door?
Why is it a crime to dunk little heads
in toilets, to scrape butts with sandpaper,
to bite their wriggly toes until they’ve bled?
I think I’ll write “Babysitter’s Caper,”
a screenplay meant to make tiny brats cringe,
seeing water-boarding as our revenge.
Roger Armbrust
December 17, 2014
