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.