An Ode to My Working Mom

I do not like this hide-and-seek

I do not like this one bit.

You said to count to ten

You do this time and again.

I knew it was unwise

To close my eyes

And just like that,

You were gone.

No, it’s no fun

I sniff like a mouse

And go through the house

And peek in each room

Only to cry

Over your tricks.

You do this every day

From Monday to Friday.

And even if I would

promise to be good,

you’d still go.

Can’t you just say no

To this “boss?”

Or is she much cuter than me?

No, that can’t be.

Stay home today, please.

I Dream of Apples

I dream of your face behind an apple;

I wake to draw a pipe on your nose.

I paint a bowler hat on your head;

Why? Well, it looks good, I suppose.

I draw blue green birds made of leaves;

I leave pink pigs in suits at the park;

I make men out of cutout paper;

That is how I wish to leave my mark!

I am Magritte

and I dream of apples.

Stars Beneath Our Feet

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We don’t need to wait for the night

Because this star’s rays don’t shine light.

They don’t hang on the purple sky, 

Neath our feet they prefer to lie.

How their limbs grow back remains untold

Stars of the sea, what secrets you hold!