When I was eight, or nine, or ten…
It matters not at all, back then,
But there is something I still see,
Most definitely Mom would agree,
She’d look at me with scant belief
And, in that first look, say “Good Grief!”
The dirt around our neighborhood
Just never acted as it should.
It was magnetic—all too true!
It stuck to me like superglue!
It had to be that, like as not,
For when I played I ran a lot.
I’ll stick to that story, every bit,
‘Cause I was never down in it..
Of course , Mom made me take a bath,
And even supervised that path,
Her favorite word , I think, was “Scrub!:
And “clean the ring around the tub!”
©Richard Williams