Babysitting
Whiny, uncooperative little cousins
ages seven and four
Big eyes, high voices and long hair
Dance parties,
Music-blasting,
milk-and-cookies fun
They rarely listen to you
You have to yell
to get your point across
Time-outs,
frustrated- you grow weary
Authority problems
They jump on the couch,
they won’t take their baths,
they put hats on the dog
At bedtime,
they shout and scream,
they only want the fun
to keep on going
But sooner or later,
they settle underneath their covers,
and their tiny bodies
slowly doze off
Then, before you know it,
you’re asleep on the floor,
the only sound to be heard
is light snoring

Babysitting
is the sound of kids giggling,
like popping bubbles
Babysitting
is being driven home at midnight,
barely awake,
surrounded by icy old darkness
as your favorite song plays
(on the radio)
As your Aunty pays you your wages,
you soon fall into your own bed
with a smile on your face,
and a shiny moon in the sky