Please Keep Your Little Ones On a Short Leash
No more babies to make.
We're all done my wife says.
Get the scissors.
We have 3 of our own
All under 5,
4 total.
Why look so nostalgic towards babies
Tinier than my 11 month old?
The kid's truck-sized,
Like wielding slabs of marble about.
We're done,
He's heavy,
We're out.
It's just so terminating.
The era is over.
Watch the garden grow
With the ones we have.
Our family is finished.
Why am I sad about this?
Because they allow babies in taprooms
With a sign above that says...
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
