Kismet

Kismet – Ian Grice

Now my Father was a man who liked to think outside the box
He expected us to learn to do the same,
“Think big” he’d say, for knowledge is the key when kismet knocks
And kismet is the one to start the game.

One day I got to thinking as I played beneath the house
And kismet came to visit as I thought,
The impression came so stealthily, as quietly as a mouse,
I reflected on the things my Father taught.

In front of me a pile of dust, and handy trash bag too
And kismet made suggestions on the run,
I worked the project diligently as little children do,
I discovered kismet was a lot of fun.

With a ladder I could reach it, on the ledge above the door
Placed that trash bag in a most strategic place
When the door was pushed to open would the trash bag hit the floor?
Would my victim take his kismet with good grace?

Then my Father’s car appeared and he parked it in its place
And his countenance appeared at the door
And I bolted up the stairs and hid; I’d glimpsed his angry face,
While he shook remaining dust upon the floor.

Why had kismet played a trick on me?  I wondered at the thought!
As I curled in penitence beneath the bed,
What would happen if I ran for it, and would I then be caught?
Should I bravely stand and face my Pa instead?

Then a gentle voice, my Mother’s, could be heard above the noise
And she reasoned with my dirty angry Pop,
“I remember when you told me once that boys will just be boys!
Then when older all this foolishness will stop.”

So the statement calmed my angry Pa and he and Mother smiled,
Mother brushed his dirty clothes and kissed his face
Then she called me out, and I emerged, a very sorry child
Knowing kismet was to blame for my disgrace.

“© Ian Grice 2008”