Don't Blame Me

Mom and Dad went out to dinner
and a movie, that’s a winner.
Leaving Sam and me at home
We’re old enough to stay alone.

Muddy footprints on the floor--
cat got out the open door.
Empty pop cans from the ‘fridge
more than enough to build a bridge.

Dog just rolled in something dead
then took a nap up on Mom’s bed.
My brother’s smoking Daddy’s pipe
with something in it that smells ripe.

Some pals stopped by to say hello
and now they just don’t want to go.
They brought some beer and pizza, too
and Dad would kill me if he knew.

The music’s loud, the bass is cool;
we moved outside around the pool.
What’s this? A couple of guys in blue
with guns and badges, handcuffs too.

Neighbors called old nine-eleven,
objecting to our teen-age heaven.
Now I’m chilled right to the bone—
the cops just called my mom’s cell phone.

“They what?” I thought I heard her say,
“Those kids are gonna rue this day!”
Their car pulled up and they came in;
the look I got was pretty grim.

Can I explain this mess you see?
It just happened—don’t blame me.
Dad said, “Send ‘em both to jail;
I refuse to pay their bail.”

He turned around to walk away
“I’m sorry, Dad,” was all I could say.
I was sweating when I awoke;
what a nightmare, that’s no joke.

I had a big snack before going to bed;
tonight I think I’ll go hungry, instead.