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

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

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

Would have to grow, to be even cursory,

And I would that performing sons and

Were carted away with the daily refuse,

And I hold that frolicsome daughters and

Are ample excuse for breaking leases.

You may take a sock at your daddy's

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

Had someone wrung it ahead of me.