It’s a low, small room in which I’m kept—
The closet for non-custodial parent;
Unaccustomed to working only each other weekend;
Nor are you so accustomed, I’d warrant.
Now, made we less as Peers enlarge
And we parental-units diminish to nuisance;
Hoping our unforgiven task of child-rearing
Leads to a leavening of their insouciance.
Returning to my home as child returns to Other Home:
Was I all right? Did I well shape the heiress?
Will she remember all those Lessons-You-Must-Know
Without having caused too much damaging-to-psyche distress?
But, I’m launching, not fertilizing—
Her own course thru life she takes.
I cannot curry after my little flower,
But watch from afar the choices she makes.
It’s a small, dim room in which I’m kept.
Non-custodial parent, it’s past time you’ve slept.