Father and son
work on math
socks abandoned on the floor
beneath the stools on which they sat
to pore through textbooks
try equations
series
permutations
probabilities.
The heat of mind exertion rises
rests on cheeks, enlivens eyes
The problems don’t turn off at night
impinge on sleep of father
(not of son, who crashes mightily
and fills with languor deep and thick)
Both hard to rouse come morning.
But next day, they resume
(what did you get for number four?)
and though the son will not admit it
a smile hovers
just behind his mouth.
They power through together.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 8, 2011
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