‘Twas the night before kindergarten
and all through the place
not a creature was stirring
except the frenetic author of this space.
The children were tucked haphazardly in bed
because they fight going to sleep
like most resist the undead.
Preparations were made and concoctions couldn’t lag
sweet potato waffles for breakfast
and tortellini for your lunch bag.
When in the kitchen there arose such a clatter
Spouse ran to the room to see what was the matter.
Homemade honey ice cream was whirring around
and the tea kettle was making a delightful whistley sound.
For what to my addled brain did become clear
was that the family needed enough chamomile
to tranquilize a deer.
So I brewed and I chilled and I diluted in safe steel
that magical herb that would make us all feel
that your first day of school would be more than okay
though nothing in your young life had ever gone quite that way.
You’re wonderful, clever, funny, and dear
and you’re stubborn, persistent, intense, and I fear
that one or the other of these will transpire:
you’ll fall apart in this new school
or make me seem quite a liar.
For I have foretold how you’d be slow to warm and shy
but just to prove me wrong I bet you’ll be the school’s
I love you too much and I hope it’s all fine
because if kindergarten’s hard for you
we can’t afford enough wine.
But of course once you warm, about you they’ll rave
because what you deserve most is to skate through unscathed.
[I love love love you little boy. Good luck. I hope against hope school’s everything that makes you love learning forever.]