Third Worst

Adults are awful.
Adults are, like,
the third worst kind of people out there
behind murderers
and girls who save seats
without putting anything on the seats
to let you know that they saved them
in the first place.

Adults forget.
They say things,
like, promising to talk about getting a dog
when you’re older
but when you ask later,
having no memory of the conversation
and even when they do admit to it happening,
saying maybe we can talk about it
on your birthday
which is, like,
seventeen months away!

Adults forget to pick you up on time
and they forget when they said
you could throw papers off the roof
and they forget that they swore
that grandpa wouldn’t pinch your cheeks this time,
they promise.
Adults suck.

But they’re only the third worst,
because adults aren’t always so bad.
Sometimes, they remember
your favorite flavor of ice cream
and which kind of nuts you’re allergic to,
even though the doctor can’t find any biological evidence
to support the allergy at all.
They remember which parts
of your favorite story to skip
on stormy nights and,
if the storm keeps on going,
they stay with you
to make sure that nothing bad comes in
to get you.

And when the storm is just awful
and you can almost feel monsters’ eyes
peeking through the window
and adults tell you
they have to get to their own bed
to get some sleep
or they just won’t be good to anyone
at work in the morning
and after five minutes
you’ll just have to cope on your own,
adults forget to go.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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