SCOLDING MY SONS

My temples covered all in white, I’m

slack-muscled and loose-skinned for good

now. And though I do have five sons,

not one of them prizes paper and brush.

A-shu is already twice eight, and who’s

ever equaled him for sheer laziness?

A-hsüan is fifteen, time studies began,

but he’s immune to words and ideas.

Yung and Tuan are both thirteen now,

and they can’t even add six and seven.

And T’ung-tzu, who’s almost nine, does

nothing but forage pears and chestnuts.

If this is heaven’s way, I’ll offer it

that stuff in the cup. It needs a drink.