Newer poem

We gave them names
Steven Hopkins

Soon after my wife and I got married,
We gave birth to our problems.
But they were never cuddly little babies.
They came out of the womb as angry teenagers with urges to do drugs, break stuff and have premarital sex.

After much thought and consideration,
We gave our problems names.
Like most parents, we wanted fitting names
That other kids won’t make fun of, but that
Set our problems apart from the crowd.

Some parents pick out names before the birth,
Emma if it’s a girl, and Owen if it’s a boy.
But my wife and I had no choice.
Our problems, while created in acts of love, were accidents.

They have strong family names like “Natasha’s inability to recognize her own feelings,”
And, “Steven not recognizing Natasha’s need for affection.”
We figured if we see one of them
We can at least wave to it and ask it how it’s day was.

However, their names have turned into accusations,
Just by calling them by their given names, our problems get defensive and slam doors and come home drunk for spite.
Our problems have attitudes.
Yet,
They cling tenaciously to what they fight against, because they are scared, and
searching desperately for identity.

Fortunately, we never had the sweet bonding time of infancy,
We don’t feel bad that we want to kill our problems.
We are happy we named them.
Now we can search for the right ammunition.

The blue bullet box in the hardware store will say,
“For killing deer, small elk, and selfishness issues.”