Sometimes I think the night will never end:
if it isn’t a diaper it’s a temper tantrum;
or wet sheets to change, a meal uneaten,
a hated shirt, the constant disagreements—
but he’s only three, you say. I say he is a
day I sometimes dread to face: a night all day.
He has his unreasonable reasons that make
his face go red when he holds his breath.
He lives on air and disagreements; yet,
sometimes he smiles: the sun comes out,
and I look, mesmerized by rainbow.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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