The Terror

The Terror

some days
you’re meaner
than a
boss, you
yell, command
me to
stop singing
exile me
from your
room at
bedtime, banish
me to
the basement
and would
i take
your flower
fist in
mine and
would i
arm wrestle
thumb wrestle
pinky swear
and do
thumbs up
thumbs down
hang loose
baby peace
sign A-OK
rock on
fist bump
high five
up top
down low
too slow
to reach
any agreement
with you
that i
am dads
you kid
that this
equation has
stability but
it is
not to
be for
you are
two and
a half
the center
the sun
and i
a cold
old pluto
subject to
capricious category
changing, lost
on an
eccentric orbit
attracted to
your warmth
repelled by
your flare-ups
merciless tyrant
vengeful goddess
you’re my
kid and
i love
you even
more than
music—your
devious experiments
probing boundaries
they will
never find
the result
love-test fail
mad scientist
you can’t
ever make
me un-love
you, you
radish you

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