When it comes to good midwivery,
for sure, ease in delivery
is ranked high on performance scale.
But nonetheless, the baby’s wail
creates a pleasure so insane
that it wipes out mom’s earlier pain.
Folks question dad’s sobriety
judging from the variety
of gifts he brings for wife and son.
A rolling pin? A bee bee gun?
A negligee? A fishing pole?
A cowboy hat? A casserole?
When he ran out of gifts to buy,
his philanthropy then went awry.
He bought the hospital a broom
purely for use within their room
lest dust and dirt from other places
land upon his loved-ones’ faces.
Once home, their baby care routine
was like a well-oiled machine
that wove through bike and hobby horse––
a toy department obstacle course.
If it’s true that chaos has its beauty,
then this young dad had done his duty
in spreading beauty wherewithin
it’s probable you’ll bark your shin
or hit your head or stub your toe––
on toys piled everywhere you go.
If you looked closely, then just maybe
you might be able to locate baby.
Stocked for life, he’s unaware
of all the loot piled in his lair.
He’s content if he is changed
and fed and cuddled, rearranged
and left to sleep the day away.
He will not see his daddy play
with all the toys he wished that he
had to play with when he was three
and five and eight and seventeen,
when kids weren’t heard, but only seen.
Back then, it’s true, he had his pick.
His ball a stone, his bat a stick.