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

 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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