Dear son

I’ve taught you how to iron a shirt,
to boil an egg, to be on time, to apologize,
to pry a thorn so it doesn’t hurt;
I’ve taught you grit for the tough goodbyes.
I’ve shown you tricks to lift out stains
and shown you stains that won’t go away.
I’ve taught you that failing means trying again,
and if someone invites you, don’t overstay.
I’ve warned you to read before you sign,
and urged you to work to stay in the black.
I’ve taught you to twist as you pour the wine,
and nagged about laundry, granny and plaque,
to get it checked and make copies of keys.
If you need a reminder, call me, please.