I got more pop rocks, rose petals, and glitter confetti on the floor
than the cockroaches know what to do with.
I got a bloody pink battlefield strewn with crumbs of hardened frosting,
the forgotten dead chunks of St. Valentine’s war,
lead bullets slid out of broken pencils.
I got dang calisthenics and dog-whistle shrieks,
ruddy-faced soldiers with their laces undone
and chocolate smeared all over their faces,
tumbling around collecting mulch in their hair.
I got about eight new ways to spell my last name
scrawled on the backs of the purple hearts I’ve earned
for excellent service in the fray,
and a couple of Chinese symbols, I guess. Not sure.
I got a lot of cleaning up to do.
And you ask me what I got.
I got kids, man.