Month of Poetry, Day 6

Work-Life Balance

I come home
Watery-eyed and
Quiver-lipped

At first, I speak softly,
Drop to my knees
Build Lincoln Logs

But later,
After leftover pizza,
Plates aligned
In the dishwasher,

When the pebble
Between my eyes
Grows into a boulder,
And I crave only silence,

I chase you, jumping,
Shouting, laughing,
Up the stairs,

Before I count to three,
Or else

This is what
They don't tell you
They mean by
"Work-Life Balance,"

That when they hand you
Two overfull vessels
And tell you to run,
You can't keep one
From splashing into
The other