go and have all the fun

A poem.

there was no money in my house growing up.
well, there was,
but my dad wouldn’t let us touch.
we were a frugal bunch.
that’s probably why i stole from him so much.

but the adage went,
it was his to do with as he saw fit.
he made it: he alone could spend it,
making all the decisions for the family unit.
that was

until there was nothing left in the accounts to stretch –
he was laid-off from his nine-to-five
and couldn’t make a living doing work on the side.
then my mother got a job –
hurt his amour-propre –
throwing a wrench into his life she had robbed.