Nor Woman or man in Child alone

She whistles while she works. The sound of which. Accompanied by the smell of fresh baked banana nut bread or berry pie. Slaps a smile on a fat face as quick as good head.

Two and a quarter chubby developing clones are out carousing upon a manicured lawn. The twins bickering over the swing. The remaining 1/4 child is in the weeds. Chewing on paint chips flavored with sweet lead. To make matters worse a dog and cat shit and piss in that very same flower bed.

But before I could do anything about that. My attentions pulled back to the pie cooling on on the windowsill. And I think to myself. I’d like to have my fill of the fairy dust that went into that. Or would I?

A white picket fence life? Guess I’d have to pick myself up a wife. And two kids. Just to double down on daring life’s almighty? Strife.

In retrospect. At least I’ll never have to look to far to find a knife. But back to the thorn at my side. Borrowed a knife from my back to dig it out. But it brought a gun so we’re still together. (Not factoring in my doubts) Figuring it out.

All I wanted was something sweet. So I reached in the cookie jar. And before I knew it that sugar rot my teeth. Tried to slip my hand out. But it keeps getting stuck. No doing.

Guess I’ll have to resort to buttering er up? Or (with the Rockwellian up inside) an outpouring of tears. How many years has it been? Thank god for them. So far my life’s been a ten outta ten.