Lumberjackasses

Today, to deliver the parenting goods
I whisked my three children
off out to the woods.

By the end, I felt rather ambivalent, sad,
but I’ll write another poem all about that;
about how and specifically why it hurts.
I’ll just use this poem to mention our shirts.

We decided for some reason, early this morn,
to dress all the same, like some uniform
code was somehow imposed on us all.
The sort of thing usually done by a school.

We farted around, trying various things.
“This shirt’s too baggy and that one clings”,
until we agreed on a combo that worked:
shorts and a tee, topped with a cheque shirt.

So off we went, cheque shirts on our backs.
An idiot hipster. Three small lumberjacks.