He sits on the floor, building his tower.
Lego is his thing at the moment.
It is a joy to watch he gets higher and higher and looks so pleased with himself.
He has decided that he doesn’t want that Lego there, so off it comes.
He pulls and pulls,
To no avail,
His face goes red
He groans, he moans
I ask whether he wants some help
He turns his back.
He pulls again,
He screams, some things are so hard to explain
I go over and offer to help
His looks at me
His lip is quivering
He screams once more
The Lego is thrown
Life is so not far
He cries, he screams, he stamps
He is his father’s son
If they can’t do something
Or it doesn’t go their way
This poem was written for the Writing Workshop I chose prompt number 1. What qualities or traits do you think your children have inherited from you, you partner, or even from your extended family?