After coming across a prompt to rewrite the events of a fairy tale in reverse order, I chose to apply the same concept to a children’s rhyme. So here’s how I imagine the life of domestic parenthood:
“Virtue is my very name,”
thought little Jack, awestruck,
and on his finger placed a fruit
that, from a tree, he’d plucked.
He crept up to the windowsill
where Mother’s pie was cooling
and plunged the digit deep inside–
but then, he started drooling,
for scents of clove and cinnamon
were caught in summer’s gust,
reminding him of Christmas time
arising from the crust.
So conquered by his hunger,
the little boy gave in
‘til flaky remnants flecked his shirt
and jam ran down his chin.
“It’s fair,” he thought, “to eat it,
since I was tryna’ help.”
His certainty was tested, though,
with Mother’s maddened yelp,
for she had turned the corner
of the kitchen to espy
her youngest in his Sunday clothes
now streaked with berry pie.
The best that she could muster
was to belt a “Jackie Horner!”
and pull him up from off the floor
and point him to the corner.
So there he sat to ruminate
while Mother cleaned and cursed,
but little Jack thought to himself,
“That could’ve gone much worse.”
rhythm's nest 