MY PARENTS ARE THE LAZIEST PEOPLE I KNOW
My father came to America when he was 14 and avoided writing poetry right away.
He worked at a movie theatre instead.
When he married at twenty-two, he still hadn’t written a single line.
My mother was no different. She married my father when she was 18,
and within a year she was pregnant with the first of her six children --
an obvious scheme to avoid writing poetry!
In 1966 they moved out of their apartment and bought a house.
I’m sure it was one excuse after another. “I have to paint the bedrooms now.”
“I have to fix dinner.” “The faucet’s leaking.” “Perhaps later on.”
At twenty-two my father started his own business and would often come home late from
work, leaving no time for poetry. The life of a procrastinator!
When the last of their children had been born, neither one of them had written a single poem.
They were in their 30s at that point and I am sure the family and neighbors were talking.
Don’t think either of them will ever write a poem.
What’s wrong with them?
They should be ashamed of themselves.
I had a happy childhood with my lazy parents. They took us to Disney World not once but
twice! What the neighbors must have thought of that!
Well, they’re going to Disney World again. And they haven’t written a single line.
Poor bastards. They just keep running from it.
Don’t think they’ll ever settle down.
My parents are in their 70s now. They have 6 grandkids. They’re still married. They still live in
the house they bought in 1966.
The other day I asked them how their poetry was going.
My dad shook his head. My mom rolled her eyes.
They’re the laziest people I know.
A version of this poem first appeared in Birmingham Poetry Review, Issue 28, January 2004.
My father came to America when he was 14 and avoided writing poetry right away.
He worked at a movie theatre instead.
When he married at twenty-two, he still hadn’t written a single line.
My mother was no different. She married my father when she was 18,
and within a year she was pregnant with the first of her six children --
an obvious scheme to avoid writing poetry!
In 1966 they moved out of their apartment and bought a house.
I’m sure it was one excuse after another. “I have to paint the bedrooms now.”
“I have to fix dinner.” “The faucet’s leaking.” “Perhaps later on.”
At twenty-two my father started his own business and would often come home late from
work, leaving no time for poetry. The life of a procrastinator!
When the last of their children had been born, neither one of them had written a single poem.
They were in their 30s at that point and I am sure the family and neighbors were talking.
Don’t think either of them will ever write a poem.
What’s wrong with them?
They should be ashamed of themselves.
I had a happy childhood with my lazy parents. They took us to Disney World not once but
twice! What the neighbors must have thought of that!
Well, they’re going to Disney World again. And they haven’t written a single line.
Poor bastards. They just keep running from it.
Don’t think they’ll ever settle down.
My parents are in their 70s now. They have 6 grandkids. They’re still married. They still live in
the house they bought in 1966.
The other day I asked them how their poetry was going.
My dad shook his head. My mom rolled her eyes.
They’re the laziest people I know.
A version of this poem first appeared in Birmingham Poetry Review, Issue 28, January 2004.