Month of Poetry, Day 7

Long before I ever thought of having children, I dreamed one night
of walking down a suburban street--like the one where I grew up.
A little curly, blond-headed boy ran ahead of me and I called and
called for him to stop, wait for me at the corner.  When I finally
caught up with him, an old acquaintance crossed our path.  "This
is my son," I said.  "We call him 'No-Ear' because he won't listen."