On Cleaning Up the Cat Barf

This picture perfectly describes living with teenagers, anarchy and love co-exisiting!

On Cleaning Up the Cat Barf

That three children told me
was in the family room,
no matter they all wanted
the cat and for solid hours
when she was a kitten
extolled her every purr and meow.

"There is someone at the door"
is another one
as if they don’t walk through it
twenty times a day as do I.
"We are out of toilet paper"
as they leave the bathroom
even though they too
could check upstairs for more rolls.

Dishes left by the television,
they pretend are mini-spaceships
left by anonymous aliens,
little balls of dirty socks
like mammoth stink bombs,
each punctuate the assumed
irrelevance of my time.
There are spiders in their dusty rooms
only I am able to escort,
and wet towels on the floor
that somehow only I have
the skills to place on towel racks.
Seems I am alone possess
opposable thumbs, far and near vision.

How lovely to live like little
rajas, czars and princes,
it must be awesome to have the train
of your gown lifted as you float through life.
I raise it often, the alternative,
to get them to contribute
requires tools I have not sharpened,
diplomacy I am too tired to attempt.

I finally understand the
indulgent grandparents,
seeking sweet revenge.
I will jack their toddlers up with candy
and return them tantrumming,
give their teenagers black coffee
and sips from my wine.
I will sit back and delight in the eye rolling,
the "oh my gods" and "whatevers"
delight they are not directed at me.