SONNET FOR ELLEN

I've trapped you in the Bouncy Chair. You just 

complain, you won't accept your precious need

for sleep, mine for rest. Sometimes, oh sometimes

I recall you will not be for long be my

"Potatoes Maroo," not for too long, no,

no; soon you're a woman with a woman's

prerogatives; and I'm, I'm not your old

Pops, but something like your Parent, lucky

to be a consultant. And then you're, oh,

hauling your own oats, you won't need old Pops

to warm and grind your lunch. Like for me now

living will be your problem. If I'm still 

in town, I'll help; I'll miss not lifting you

off an edge, rocking toward the sleepy deeps.

Copyright © 1983 by Patrick O'Hayer