The Things They Say
It is Friday.
It is Chore Day.
All are set to task in different places.
Then- angst from the other room,
Voice rising in frustrated inflection,
Tall Son is attempting to create order on
a VERY DISORDERLY student desk,
“Why are people throwing my desk into such disarray?” He cries, expressively.
I smile. He is his “mother’s son.”
Disarray. I like it.
The things they say.