Obedience

There was a boy whose name was Jim
And although life was good to him
And gave him home and food and love,
He thought that it was not enough,
That it was time for him to do
Those things that he’d been told not to.

 

“I am ten and must be free
To enjoy what’s been denied to me,
And I shall do it all,” he said.
“I’ll spread some black dirt on my bread,
And spill food on my Sunday clothes
And I shall put beans up my nose.”

 

Everything that to this kid
His mom said, “Don’t,” he went and did.
He gulped his sandwich, and dragged his feet,
Threw bags of garbage in the street,
Leaned out windows, ran down halls,
And wrote exciting words on walls.

 

Until at last, at half past two,
He could not think of more to do.
Anger, gluttony, and pride—
He’d drunk and smoked and cursed and lied,
Stuck out his tongue, dropped his britches,
And shoved old ladies into ditches
And other things good folk condemn—
He’d done it all by 3:00 P.M.,
And satisfied his appetite:
Now what was left to do that night?

 

From this, dear children, you should sense
The value of obedience.
When I say, “Don’t,” I mean, “Postpone
Some wickedness for when you’re grown,
For naughty flings and wild rampages
Are much more fun at later ages.”

 

Now brush your teeth and go to bed.
And after all your prayers are said,
Lie in the dark as quiet as mice
And whisper one word that isn’t nice.
Don’t say ten, a whole big group,
Just say one, like “panda poop.”

 

Oh, what a thrill from one bad word!
Say it a second time and third.
“Poop” is a vulgar word, and vicious.
How bad of you! And how delicious!
One is enough. The rest will keep.
Now shut your eyes and go to sleep.