Made This Way

I wonder why I’m made this way-
To seldom have a happy day-
Just knowing all that needs be done
While other folk are having fun.

I know I have to pay the bills.
I can’t experience the thrills-
There’s just no funds, though I work hard-
While others put it on the card.

It doesn’t help me sleep at night…
This always doing what is right,
And yet if I should stop and rest
I’m criticized by every pest.

I never got the child support-
There’s just no fight, I’m not the sort
To turn against, or stop my love
From anyone I’m thinking of.

But as I lie awake, at least,
Some thoughts, quite well become my feast-
And after all is said and done...
Who wants support? I got my son.

John H. Bidwell