The problem child,
blatant disregard for lines
Chef Remy tugging at split ends.
Like many an accident,
unknowingly a world to many.
Hard hat on a swivel, the other circumcised.
No mountain no valley no problem,
baby Pickles and toy screwdriver by the hip,
adventures hidden, beyond his yellow plastic gate.
5.7 pounds at 8.24 am on February 24th,
Young Simba the predestined king,
three is company.
Radiance blankets him,
once ecstatic for stampeding lights, now anything,
for peace at night.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: birthday,love