Boy children fuss -
Tearing into everything -
Stubbornly stomping until given their way.
Those unfortunate ones with sons
Adapt to muddy footprints, lizards, race cars,
Toy guns, occasional outbursts at school.
A boy tumbles through the world -
Hurtling until he rights himself.
A son leaves home
Still sledding down mountains -
A character built on black eyes, shoulder punches,
And impish grins.
Girls quiet down when told -
Standing out of the way
When instructed not to run with the other children.
By age eight a daughter learns
She'd rather serve than eat first at a party.
Well-maintained girls, in dresses or jeans,
Peek into the world more modestly.
Eager to be liked -
Pleasantly attentive to feelings and egos.
Their keepers nod,
Delighted by their thorough taming and molding.
Girls smile in return -
It would be rude to do otherwise.
If I have a daughter
I'll let her bite the dog -
Talk during class -
Take a fall, perhaps breaking her bones.
As she hides her brother's soldiers I'll shake my head
At my errant girl,
Who would rather be happy than good.
***
this is a draft of sorts, I'd like to make it a little less obvious