The power of word Poem by BIRK ROHELEND

mom asked dad
several months in a row:
'paint the chairs for me, please.'
they were the kind of
square stools with a hole
the paint kept on chipping
ruining clothing
mom always had to rewash the laundry

grandma came to visit
looked at the chairs and yelled at dad:
'if they aren't painted by tomorrow,
'I'll toss them out the window!'
I imagined with excitement
the flight of the red stools
unfortunately, I did not get to see
their death-defying dive
from the fourth floor