all day.
Ah, would I might lose sight of things unpleasant:
The bills I owe; the work I haven't done.
And only think of future joys and present,
Like the approaching payday, and my son.
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CONFESSION
A sleuth like Pinkerton or Burns
Is told that there has been a crime.
He runs down clues and leads, and learns
Who did the deed, in course of time.
It's just the other way with me:
The first thing I am sure of is
The criminal's identity,
And then I learn what crime was his.
When Son comes up with hanging head
And smiles a certain kind of smile,
When he's affectionate instead
Of playful; when he stalls awhile
And starts to speak and stops again,
Or, squirming like a mouse that's caught,
Asserts, "I am a GOOD boy," then
I look to see what harm's been wrought.
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HIS LADY FRIEND
Who is Sylvia? What is she
That early every morning
You desert your family
And rush to see her, scorning
Your once cherished ma and me?
Are her playthings such a treat?
I will steal 'em from her;
Better that than not to meet
My son and heir all summer,
Save when he comes home to eat.
Or is she herself the one
And only real attraction?
Has your little heart begun
To get that sort of action?
Better wait a few years, son.
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DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
"MYSELF!" It means that you don't care
To have me lift you in your chair;
That if I do, you'll rage and tear.
"MYSELF!" It means you don't require
Assistance from your willing sire
In eating; 'twill but rouse your ire.
"MYSELF!" It means when you are through
That you don't want your daddy to
Unseat you, as he used to do.
Time was, and not so long ago,
When you were carried to and fro
And waited on, but now? No! No!
You'd rather fall and break your head,
Or fill your lap with cream and bread
Than be helped up or down, or fed.
Well, kid, I hope you'll stay that way
And that there'll never come a day
When you're without the strength to say,
"MYSELF!"
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THE ETERNAL GREETING
What is the welcoming word I hear
When I reach home at the close of day?
"Glad you are with us, daddy, dear?"
Something I'd like to hear you say?
No, it is this, invariably:
"Daddy, what have you got for me?"
"Deep affection," I might reply;
What would it profit if I did?
I might answer: "The price to buy
Clothes and edibles for you, kid."
You would repeat, insistently:
"Daddy, what have you got for me?"
Isn't my Self enough for you?
Doesn't my Presence satisfy?
No, that spelling would never do;
You want Presents, a new supply,
When you inquire so eagerly:
"Daddy, what have you got for me?"
'Twould be much nicer and cheaper, son,
If I were welcome without a toy,
But as I'm not, I must purchase one
And take my reward from your look of joy
When you open the bundle and cry: "O, see!
See what daddy has got for me!"
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GUESS AGAIN
"I guess I'll help you, daddy."
And daddy can't say "No;"
For if he did, 'twould wound you, kid,
And cause the tears to flow.
"I guess I'll help you, daddy."
And daddy says: "All right,"
And tries to do, ignoring you,
Whatever work's in sight.
But what's the use of trying?
As well be reconciled
To quit and play the game that may
Be pleasing to you, child.
To quit and play, or roughhouse,
Or read, as you elect;
For I'm afraid the guess you made
Was wholly incorrect.
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NEARLY A SINECURE
"I'm going to the office."
So says my youngster, and
Gets on the train to take him there
(The train's the sofa or a chair,
Whichever's near at hand.)
"Now I am to the office.
I'm working now," says he,
And just continues standing there
On that same lounge or that same chair,
As idle as can be.
Perhaps four seconds after
He first got on his train,
I see him getting off once more.
He steps or falls onto the floor
And says, "I'm home again."
I don't know what they pay him,
Nor where the office is.
The nature of the boy's posish
I've never learned—but how I wish
I had that job of his!
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