Home » Poetry » Year 2: Day 131 – Get Thee To Bed, Chicken-head

Year 2: Day 131 – Get Thee To Bed, Chicken-head

You’re not listening.
Your mother has asked you repeatedly
to put your socks back on,
to no avail.

It is inherently implied that to sleep
you must do so in the bed
and not under it,
but at this point we would
turn a blind eye
should you finally nod off
down there.

But you seem to be unable
to control the flailing of your limbs,
which I must say greatly hinders
any chance of dozing off.

I have tried to reason with you
but will soon be obliged
to apply force.
Your mother will look away
as I administer what, to you,
will surely be most offensive
but which may deter
this behavior
in future instances.

However, I am not young
as I used to be,
and crouching to pull you
from under the bed, I fear,
will put me in a most unpleasant mood,
such that I may misapply my vigor
and cause you to witness
the fury of one provoked
heretofore not unleashed
on you.

So get thee to bed,
my chicken-head
so that your father may remain
in possession of his wits
and his loving kindness, too.


2 thoughts on “Year 2: Day 131 – Get Thee To Bed, Chicken-head

  1. I like this one! I remember those days well, my daughter being all of 40 years old. Where did the time go? Coincidentally, my pet name for my daughter was always “Chicken Licken”–where I came up with that, I don’t know, except maybe from the children’s story pertaining to “the sky is falling, the sky is falling”, but maybe I mixing my stories up. Anyway, I still to this day call her that sometimes when we are standing at the door with our long goodbyes, and I am holding her in my arms, breathing in her sweet scent like mother’s do with their babies, and I can’t get enough of her while she is pulling to get out the door towards her own home and family now.

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