Too Many Are Too Few

For us, you see, too many are too few,
And ‘just enough’ would miss the mark.
We want a clan, a horde, a pack.
Something more like Noah’s ark.

Diapers and blankies, crying and fevers,
Cooing and giggles galore.
For years and years, we'll ask for this,
And then we'll ask for more.

Roughly on schedule, they learn to crawl
To walk, and then to run.
And when this happens, we know it's time
To make another one.

Screen doors-a-slamming, mosquito bites,
And things that go bump in the night.
Piano recitals, basketball games,
Then tucking them in at night.

The firefly friend, who lasts a few hours
In a lonely mason Jar,
The tadpoles tortured, the frogs abused,
The hamster lost in the car.

The band-aids, the stitches, infections and barf—
And mountains of dirty clothes.
My little sweetie just broke her arm,
And her sister just broke her nose.

Then dating and car keys, homework and tests
And that awful biology class.
Report cards that tell us how well they've done
And if they'll fail or pass.

Sisters and brothers helping each other
And fighting a little bit, too.
But no biting, no swearing, no bloodshed, no punching:
Or they'll answer to you know who.

Our bustling bunch is noisy and bold
Tranquility can be such a bore.
Rambunctious at heart, chaotic and loud
You'd hate to live next door.

We seek such havoc without much thought—
It is what we are meant to do,
We'll fill our house with little voices,
Because too many are too few

The Day I Ate the Alphabet

Summer sun…up so early,
Peeling back my eyes.
Gagahead never sleeps:
He just waits for me to rise.

“Mornin’ Moe,” whispers Gagahead,
As we make our way to pee.
My sisters says Gagahead is not real,
But he’s very real to me.

My tummy rumbles and Gagahead asks:
“Breakfast, don’t you think?”
“First things first…” I swish and gurgle,
Spitting toothpaste in the sink.

“What today?” I yawn and ask,
“How ‘bout oatmeal in a bowl?”
“I’d rather eat a bag of spiders
And a bucket of old black coal.”

"Hey…the alphabet…let’s eat it!”
Says Gagahead, with a twinkle in his eye.
"From A to Z, from front to back,
Come on let’s give it a try!"

"The alphabet…huh? We eat it?
As I closed the kitchen door.
“Oh yea! It’s easy! I'll show you how!
I’ve done this once before.”

“We’ll appetize with A, nibble on some B,
Then move along to C.
We’ll keep on eating every letter
Until we’re munching on the Z.”

“The freezer! The pantry! The breadbox!
A saucepan and the blender!
Spatulas, squeezers, a garlic press
And that hammer that makes meat tender.”

“Open the fridge and hoist the milk,
The eggs, some tofu and cheese.
Find the capers and the pickles
And, the tortillas, if you please.”

“The curry, paprika, and some thyme
The salt and pepper, too.
A bunch of veggies, fruit and chicken!
Now here’s just what we’ll do!”

“You sit there, get ready to eat,
You’ll need a fork or two.
I’ll whip up an Alphabet feast
And serve it just to you!”

"An apple-armadillo appetizer,
With a side of alligator paste,
Buttered banana biscuits
All dunked in bouillabaisse."

"A plate of candied cabbage cake
Beside a cup of chocolate chowder.
Dirty doughnuts and deviled eggs,
All dusted with dandelion powder."

"A little earthworm etoufee,
Enchiladas and escargot,
A side of fancy feathered figs
All wrapped in filo dough!"

"Garbanzo beans baked with grapes,
Some green grasshopper pie,
A scoop of hearty hamburger hash
And horseradish piled high."

"Incredible ice cream igloos
And Irish soda bread.
Jell-O jubilee with jasmine jelly—
Now that'll clear your head!"

“Kangaroo kielbasa with ketchup
And a funny food called kurma,
Lamb chops, lasagna, lima beans,
And lentils straight from Burma.”

“Wait! Can I skip the lamb?”
“Oh yes!” said Gagahead, in a voice so very proud.
“On days we eat the alphabet,
Parent rules are not allowed.”

“How about monstrous monkfish with mango,
And marshmallows topped with mustard?
A ladle of nose-hair noodles,
Atop a scoop of peanutty custard?”

“Oysters and onion casserole,
With a side of ollallaberry jam.
Puffy popovers and pickle sauce
And pot-stickers made with ham.”

“Catch these quail quesadillas
With chili con queso—so very gooey.
A crispy piece of rare roast beef
With a side of ratatouille.”

“A blended seaweed smoothie,
Beside a salmon succotash.
Tender termites wrapped in tortillas,
And tacos made from yesterday’s trash.”

“Say hello to udon noodles
And a bowl of unknown goop.
Venison stew and vichyssoise
And spicy Vietnamese soup.”

“Wiggly wontons on a plate,
And watermelon on a stick.
Something called xacuti—
That just might make you sick.”

“At last, a mishy mash of yams,
The best that I could get.
Zabaglione and zucchini ziti.
You ate the alphabet!”

“Are you full? Need a snick-snack?
Can you eat another bite?
Now that’s the way to start the day
By eating every letter in sight!”

* * *

“Moe? Moe? Is that you in there?”
My mommy called to me.
I heard her slippers in the hall
On her way to make coffee.

“Oh no! What have you done, Moe!
Bananas on the doors?!?!
There’s ollallaberries on the walls,
And zucchini on the floors!”

“Well, I woke early and found my tummy
Was empty as a hole—
So, after I peed, I came to kitchen
For some oatmeal in a bowl.”

“But just plain oatmeal would not do,
And I did not want you to fret.
So, from A to Z, from front to back
I ate the alphabet.”

“Oh good golly, I’ve heard it all.
The alphabet!?! Momma mia!
Next you’ll tell me that this whole mess
Was that Gagahead’s idea!”

* * *

“Mommy made her angry face,
I think we must change our ways.”
“Yes…tomorrow we’ll start with Z,
And finish with the A!"