Miscommunication

After a hard morning’s work cleaning up the barn,
The three good workers came inside.

I made an iced lemonade for them to enjoy,
And as I poured the drink into glasses,

I thought that my son should put away the computer,
Lest it be accidentally inundated.

I dismissed this fleeting thought.
You know what happens next.

As the wave of spilled lemonade flowed across the table
And soaked the back of the computer,

I was beside myself with self-recrimination,
And shrieked with paralysis of uncertainty:

What to do first?
How to remediate this expensive disaster?

All of my anger was vented inward:
I saw this coming and ignored the warning.

My son, though, heard my scream
Differently.

He heard me screaming blame on him.
He heard me rejecting him.

This spill was not just financially expensive.