What Fools These Children Be!

By Sam Schmidt

You said it right!
I am the wrinkled likeness of a woodland sprite.
I wink at grandchildren and make them laugh
When a half-gallon of ice cream’s lost on my behalf,
Claiming, fingers sticky, that it wasn’t me!
And sometimes lurk I in the cabinetry,
In the very likeness of a stealthy cat,
Should child pilfer snacks, to startle the brat
Who leaps a hundred feet, and squeals just like a pig.
And when she turns away, I do a jig,
Throwing my tennis-ball walker aside.
When back around she turns, down topple I,
Stifling a laugh, and cry, “I can’t get up!”
What mischief when she finds my dentures in her cup!
What horseplay when I flash my pink and toothless grin,
And hide behind a scarf fastened with an old clothespin.