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To A Small Boy Standing On My Shoes While I Am Wearing Them

by
 Let's straighten this out, my little man,
And reach an agreement if we can.
I entered your door as an honored guest.
My shoes are shined and my trousers are pressed, And I won't stretch out and read you the funnies And I won't pretend that we're Easter bunnies.
If you must get somebody down on the floor, What in the hell are your parents for? I do not like the things that you say And I hate the games that you want to play.
No matter how frightfully hard you try, We've little in common, you and I.
The interest I take in my neighbor's nursery Would have to grow, to be even cursory, And I would that performing sons and nephews Were carted away with the daily refuse, And I hold that frolicsome daughters and nieces Are ample excuse for breaking leases.
You may take a sock at your daddy's tummy Or climb all over your doting mummy, But keep your attentions to me in check, Or, sonny boy, I will wring your neck.
A happier man today I'd be Had someone wrung it ahead of me.

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