"Zip your fly and

Wipe off that steak sauce

You're a picture of disgrace."

Hair the color of golden hay

Is swept away from haunted eyes

The screeching harpy of a mother

Is delegated to the nonentity of a flour sack

The child is helpless no longer

His mind soars with the dragons of yesteryear

His thoughts form an unending

Dream of fantastic delight

Abruptly brought back to reality

As his mother yammers once again

Accentuating her words with the tapping

Of a paperclip

Joanna Ballard - Feb. 19.1991