ferociously needy a time or two amongst
the tall solemn weeping willow trees like guards
awaiting like mums
to stifle any running
vines from climbing
the ancient brick spires
and soiling their breeches knees
with god awful grass stains
and the toes of their
polished cordovans  so decadently
like wanton orphans
here we are brought up
in castles with desires
not met by brick or mortar
or examples,
tell me pa ,
with your grappling of the maid Helen,
in the parlor, were
not of a mind as I, all I ask ,
Sir, is to run wild one day of the month,
not forever,
like you, and mum,
always stern
like a Catholic Nun
on guard to ensure
no one ever smiles
or has fun,
is that our ruling obligatory
commitment?
Fun is catch and hide and seek and roses growing a little
wild outside their containments,
once in the while?
Or shall I stifle my creativity
my wants, and just grab ***
the help
every chance I get?