A Squashly Burden

A young boy sits at a table
Staring at his plate
Time ticks ever onward
It's beginning to get late

Still the fellow stares
At the cold and solid mass
Not really even caring
That time will always pass

Squash is just too much
For a boy just barely eight
How's he just supposed to swallow
That orange goop on his plate?

Finally he loses the fight
And picks up an unused spoon
Quickly shoveling it into his mouth
Finishing not a moment to soon

Mother has reached the end
Of her swiftly unraveling rope
The one that parents need
To sufficiently and sanely cope

So let this be a lesson
To all those girls and boys
Who'd rather stare at their victuals
Then go play with their toys.


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