Even the dead will choose to die twice
than to suffer and agonize
over his questions distracting and mildly amusing.
My child's got an elephants might and a fiercely persuasive tongue
fused with surprising theories on my patience and its disappearing
but all of this pales before imagination of the young.
It’s clearly past bedtime and the room is lit tonight
in cool isolated splendours dim white light,
perhaps that's what sets off his imaginary mind.
He asks, do you suppose if white paint can make it to my edibles list?
I know the drill well and I shouldn't be surprised but clearly, I am
I try not to be impatient, but a role model mother hiding her clenched fist.
As the night progresses, his questions get more bizarre,
do you think, different colour paints have different flavours?
Or if the sticky gooey glue, tastes like wobbly Jell-O?
With my patience thinning, I shout out a stern NO!
But it barely makes the cut, and I again hear him ask,
to test the strength of an origami box, can I use a bomb for the task?
He certainly wasn't listening to a word I said
and I quickly deduce that calm parenting is probably just a myth
but he's a little monster I am in love with.
So, I give it another try, before he's tucked into bed,
we rely on our brain and intellect to wade through a difficult time
and never on violence or stupidity, for that's a dreamers bane.
I realize then I must have finally said or done something right
cause like old enemies after a tiresome long fight
we unanimously agree to rest our sharp blades for the night.
And I cover him in a million kisses before saying goodnight
knowing it was never an argument or a fuss
just a sweet remembrance of this being us.