Stark Raving Dad

by Sanderson Dean

My volume will rise

  I’m not messing around

  Timeout is soft

  Naptime is weak

  It’s got to be something

  That doesn’t sound meek

  I want them to know

  I’m nobody’s stooge

  My wrath should be epic,

  Unforgettable, huge

  The Earth will tremble

  The mountains will rock

  Is a year without food too much?

  Just to pick up a sock

  CLEAN UP YOUR ROOM

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  Clean up your room

  How many times do I have to say it?

  THE SPACE ON YOUR HEAD

  Something’s not right

  Something’s amiss

  On your face

  I sense an emptiness

  Something’s not right

  As I contemplate

  Your strange smile

  Makes me hesitate

  Something’s not right

  Was it something I said?

  Then I notice

  The space on your head

  Something’s not right

  Now I’m fully aware

  Beaming pride obvious

  You cut your own hair!

  COOKIES ’N’ CRIME

  Guilty

  You condemn

  Guilty

  By pointed finger

  Our cookie culprit caught this time

  Don’t let the mystery linger

  Your brother can’t refute the crime

  Trust your pointed finger

  Guilty

  Say your chocolate lips

  Guilty

  By pointed finger

  Earnest with obvious lie

  Crumbs reveal the ringer

  But you’re confident there’s no alibi—

  For a pointed finger

  CHAPTER 4:

  PLAYTIME & OTHER MESS-MAKING ADVENTURES

  When toys cover the ground like snow and food coats every other surface, it’s time for the kids to start a new project! Usually with gallons of glue and a bazillion broken crayons. This is a little poetic homage to all the games and activities that make more work for Dad.

  Even if you’ve seen it all—

  you’ll never see it coming.

  Stark Raving Dad (Tenet)

  THE MASTERPIECE

  All that cutting

  And meticulous care

  Glue

  Just the right shapes

  In just the right places

  Glue

  The utmost concentration

  The required contemplation

  Glue

  You step away

  Your masterwork through

  And your priceless art

  Perfectly stuck

  To the kitchen table

  THE MEASURE OF A TAPE MEASURE

  You created your own universe

  Inch by inch

  A simple tool—

  Pulled to epic lengths

  Twisted to brave frontiers

  The walls of a fort

  The boundaries of a space station

  The edges of imagination

  And finally—

  The distance of irritation

  Stretched to max length

  Fifty feet of calculated fun

  Woven around fences,

  Bushes,

  Bicycles,

  Chairs,

  Railings,

  Trees,

  Tables,

  Spickets,

  Posts,

  Flower pots,

  Tomato plants,

  Wheel barrows,

  And barbecue grill handles

  The only thing it can’t measure—

  Is Dad’s patience

  It extends far beyond that

  THE LIFE OF A SQUIRT GUN

  Bright colors, now faded

  Resting quietly on the lawn

  How soon the joys of summer

  Have come and gone

  Full of life and laughs

  Just days before

  Now, abandoned weapons

  That don’t squirt anymore

  Cracked, empty plastic

  Leaking the fun

  Can’t take the pressure

  Of boys on the run

  Dropped without sadness

  When you’re on the go

  Waiting for Dad to move them—

  So he can mow

  KIDS SHOULD NEVER HAVE SHARPIES

  Kids should never have Sharpies

  Even if you appreciate wall art

  Kids should never have Sharpies

  Even if you like stick figures

  On your coffee table

  Kids should never have Sharpies

  Even if you’re cool

  With neck tattoos

  Kids should never have Sharpies

  Even if you like to wash them

  With your clothes

  Seriously, permanent is forever

  And Dad isn’t laughing at that mustache anymore

  DIRECTIONS FOR KICKING A BALL

  There’s only one way to kick a ball

  And that’s really, really hard

  If you want to smash it far

  Kick it really, really hard

  If you want to blast it high

  Kick it really, really hard

  If you kick a ball at all

  Kick it really, really hard

  But you probably should have listened

  When Dad told you to kick it in the yard

  Because that lamp is really, really broken

  BOYS & STICKS

  There’s nothing better

  Than a stick

  A few feet long

  But not too thick

  Something to poke

  Something to swing

  A powerful weapon

  To rule as a king

  No fancy game

  You can buy at the store

  No flashy gadget

  That costs a lot more

  If you were smart, Dad

  And a little more swift

  You’d wrap this up

  As a birthday gift

  QUALITY TIME

  Is six hours

  Putting together a Lego space station

  Really fine?

  Can we still call it

  Quality time?

  I haven’t seen anyone in forever

  Digging through tiny pieces

  Alone

  Glaring at bits of plastic

  Lost

  A pile of torture

  Daring me to realize

  We’re only halfway done

  And suddenly

  Here you are

  Telling me—Mom’s a lot more fun

  THE PICK

  Finger in nose

  I saw you pick it

  Now you’re wondering

  Where to stick it

  Hand… slowly… drifting

  Toward the couch

  But then—

  You flick it

  BRUISES & BUMPS

  I’ve seen bruises

  And I’ve seen bumps

  I’ve seen scratches

  And I’ve seen lumps

  I’ve seen stitches

  And I’ve seen spills

  I’ve seen doctors

  And I’ve seen bills

  But what is brotherly love—

  If it doesn’t come with a shove?

  THE HARDEST THING IN THE WORLD

  If you’ve ever stepped

  On a small, square block

  In the dark at two o’clock

  It’s more than a shock

  It’s harder than rock

  Your jaw will lock

  To stifle the scream, and whimper ins
tead

  Why did I get out of bed?

  Emblazoned brightly with an “A”

  Nestled near an apple

  Impassionedly I have to say

  It really hurts like crapple

  CHAPTER 5:

  SANITY & OTHER THINGS GOING DOWN THE TOILET

  These poems delve into the things that drive Dad insane! He’d write more, but he needs to turn off every light in the house, pick up dirty socks in the front yard, then get the plunger… again.

  Be the bigger person.

  Using your size and weight

  is a huge advantage.

  Stark Raving Dad (Truism)

  ODE TO THE PLUNGER MAN

  Dear Dad,

  You’re always there

  When something’s stuck

  Be it Q-tips

  Or a Dixie cup

  Our hero fighting crayons in muck

  More enemies rising as it fills up

  Army men, a rubber gator,

  Bouncy balls, the Caped Crusader

  The only constant

  In this stopped-up crater?

  Half a roll of toilet paper

  With a gurgle of greatness

  Then a mighty lunge

  Triumphant!

  You make your final plunge

  ROAD-TRAPPED

  Help

  We’re trapped in a car

  An hour travelled

  And we’ve gone too far

  A quiet ride

  Lost in the past

  Praying for an end

  Now driving too fast

  Tortured by tantrums

  Splattered by spills

  Seatbelt prisoners

  Losing our wills

  Can we survive

  This titanic task?

  Our road-trip vacation…

  At long last

  ALWAYS DRY YOUR ROCKS

  Always dry your rocks

  Just listen for the knocks

  Washing, spinning, every one

  When Mom shouts

  You’ll know they’re done

  In the dryer, warm and waiting

  Silent after clanging, banging

  And once she frantically stops it—

  You can put them back in your pocket

  LAMENT OF THE KNOTTED SHOELACES

  Your intricate knot

  A sinister plot

  To test a father’s skill

  Twists upon turns

  Tangled and mangled

  Devised to break my will

  Contorted fingers, bent to the fight

  Brow furrowed, pulling with might

  Feeling the heat

  The clock is ticking

  Sweating through shirt

  Your laces constricting

  But I’m the one who let you choose

  Stating proudly, you can tie your shoes

  Now we’re late

  We need to go

  My lesson learned—

  Stick with Velcro

  PRESSING DAD’S BUTTONS

  Crackers become crumbs

  Clickety-clack

  Crumbs become crushed

  Clackety-click

  Crushed becomes crud

  Tippity-tap

  Crud becomes crammed

  Tappity-tip

  Crushed cracker crumb crud

  Mixed with drool, made with ease

  Crammed into all my computer keys

  That’s how you press Dad’s buttons

  THE CALM BEFORE THE SMELL

  Behind the wheel

  I savor the calm

  One perfect moment

  When nothing is wrong

  But look again

  That grimace is telling

  Use your senses

  That’s horror you’re smelling

  Trouble onboard

  And there’s no escape

  Trapped in a car

  Reaching panic state

  Voices rising

  Mom even nagged

  How could you forget—

  The diaper bag?!

  I HEAR EVERYTHING YOU SAY

  I hear everything you say

  If I want to

  Otherwise you’re talking to yourself

  Or yelling for no reason

  Or just turning red

  By the way

  I heard you whispering to Mom

  Through four walls

  Fifty feet away

  When I was supposed to be sleeping in bed

  SCAMPERING SOCKS

  Dirty socks

  Lounge on the floor

  Dirty socks

  Hide behind doors

  Dirty socks

  Loaf on the stairs

  Dirty socks

  Hang off chairs

  But dirty socks scamper

  When you look in the hamper—

  Because you never find dirty socks there

  TURBULENCE IN 13B

  The thrill of flying

  Thump!

  The love of airplanes

  Thump! Thump!

  The joy of travel

  Thump!

  The wonder of tray tables

  Thump! Thump!

  The marvel of tight spaces

  Thump!

  The grimace from Seat 13B

  Thump! Thump!

  Let’s call it turbulence

  Thump!

  GETTING OUT THE DOOR

  The biggest problem

  With going to the store

  Is actually getting out the door

  Do we really need snacks

  And the mighty Thor?

  Do we need that rubber snake

  And those weapons of war?

  Then, we’re loading, strapping,

  Prepping for snags

  Packing tissues, wipes,

  And the diaper bag

  Finally, we make our arrival

  An epic journey of survival

  But there’s one thing we missed—

  The list

  CHAPTER 6:

  FOOD & OTHER THINGS KIDS DON’T EAT

  Like a teething biscuit mashed into your computer keyboard, food rarely ends up where it should. Parents constantly battle spills, sticky fingers, and picky eaters. But not eating French fries?! C’mon!

  Some things are just easier… when you ignore them.

  Stark Raving Dad (Aphorism)

  SERVED BETWEEN YOUR TOES

  There’s just something

  About noodles on the floor

  Squishing between your toes

  As you walk through the door

  A rubbery-wet texture

  Grimy, slick, and turning gray

  My compliments to the chef—

  They feel al dente

  BETTER BUTTER

  Open the lid and behold the treasure

  A golden spread of past meals’ pleasure

  Flashes of crimson

  Streaks of brown

  Bits of flavor, all around

  Like muffin crumbs, jelly

  And grated cheddar

  All making our butter

  So much better

  WHERE PEANUT BUTTER GOES

  Peanut butter

  Goes great on sandwiches

  Cabinets, counters

  And refrigerator doors

  Peanut butter

  Goes great on toast

  Chairs, doorknobs

  And smeared on floors

  Peanut butter

  Goes great on crackers

  Coffee makers, couches

  And carpeting

  Honestly—

  Peanut butter goes great

  On everything

  And so does jelly

  MANNERS BY THE MOUTHFUL

  It’s no big deal

  Talking with your mouth full

  It’s just a meal

  Malfing wiff yorsh mouff flll

  It’s just Dad always getting mad

  Talshing weff yrrff mouff flll

  I
t’s just food in the way

  When you’ve got things to say

  Talshnng wrsh yurr mouff ffllll

  It’s just a small amount

  Sometimes slipping out

  Dalshnng wrrf yrrr mrff fffll

  At least the dog doesn’t mind

  Talking with your mouth full

  FEEDING TIME

  Staring at my plate again

  Wishing I could eat

  Wiping up milk that’s spilled—

  And dripping in my seat

  Followed by refills

  Spooning out orders

  Washing kids’ faces

  And serving as porter

  Now there’s no time

  So I’m cramming food down

  I’m told to stop dawdling—

  And ditch the frown

  WASTE NOT, WANT NO MORE

  I am going to drink this milk

  Because we’re at a restaurant

  And I paid five bucks

  I am going to drink this milk

  Because I’m tired of waste

  And I’m ending the squander

  I am going to drink this milk

  And the half-eaten surprise

  Hidden at the bottom

  But next time—

  I’m not going to drink your

  Leftover milk

  EVIL, EVIL BROCCOLI

  You just sit and glare at me

  Between us both

  Evil, evil broccoli

  Warm, healthy veggies to eat

  Silent, waiting there

  Evil, evil broccoli

  A line drawn with a timeless foe

  Staring back

  Evil, evil broccoli

  Once leafy, green, and oh-so-good

  But an hour later, you taste like wood

  Evil, evil broccoli

  Just scrape it in the sink

  Don’t tell Mom

  Evil, evil broccoli

  THE ICING ON THE FACE

  Blue hands

  Blue lips

  Blue face

  Blue icing all over the place

  What could be better than frosting?

  Certainly not cake