Every day:
She comes home from school
and plops her heavy backpack
and enormous Stanley
and her sweaty ankle socks
and several precarious Sharpies
and her questionably damp
yet on-trend and so chic
reusable lunch bag
onto our living room couch.
And every day I say:
“Can you take your things
off the couch?
And could you place them
in the landing zone
that we built for your use.
And please, will you
disarticulate your Stanley?
And pop it into the dishwasher.
And then please empty out
your lunch bag, why don’t you.
So maybe, just possibly,
tomorrow morning will
go smoother?”
And every day she
S I G H S !
And retorts:
MOMIKNOW!
MOMIMNOTABABY
MOMIKNOWHOWTODOTHINGS
CANYOULEAVEMEALONE!
And every night
as I turn the corner
to ascend the stairs
to attempt some sleep,
I see from my peripheral:
Her heavy backpack
Her leaking Stanley
Her discarded socks
An uncapped Sharpie
and her drooping lunch bag.
All her detritus is
nestled in
for a long night's rest
on our custom sofa.
ThisIsWhy
WeCan’tHave
GoodThings.
Good Night, Mess.
