Why buy the cow . . .

So, I know I said I was time-releasing my haikus, tantric-style, to tease you along, giving over just the bare minimum necessary to keep you longing for more, and more, and more. But I’m the kind of girl that gives it up easy. The kind that gives the milk for free so you never have to buy the cow. So without further ado, here is the fast and furious finish to the What My Son Said Haiku Collection.

No.2

I already know
what coffee tastes like Mommy --
smoke and marshmallows.

No. 3

We’re doing a play.
I’m Hook, Peter, and Wendy.
Sec can be the plank.

No. 4

“Bitch” is not a nice
word. “Gun”either. What about
“son of a pork bun.”

Children speak poetry

I’ve got a fever and the only thing that can cure it is . . . more haikus. All it took was that hit I took yesterday and now I’m hooked. Here’s today’s recipe for poetry greatness. Take the fact that Primo says crazy shit and add the fact that I can count seven syllables and you have . . . the What My Son Said Haiku Collection. I will time-release one or two a day. Consider it the equivalent of tantric sex (what my husband, who is not a big fan, likes to call "lazy, blueball sex").

No. 1

No more hand washing!

I have had enough of this

Dumb swine flu business.

To my darling daughter

Running with scissors

is bad but gnawing on them

is probably worse

What are you eating?

Is that Mommy’s lipstick? Son

of a bitch. Time-out.

I worry that your

oral fixation may cause

trouble later on.

And a bonus one, courtesy of Master Primo:

Halloween is a

religion, I know because

My daddy told me