WIKKID

On September 23rd, when I married your mother

I swore to protect you until you were ready to go out on your own.

You've been living under my roof ever since

free of charge, not lifting a precious finger unless it suited you.

You've been taking it easy, living off the fat of the man

Dining, dating, delighting, all on my dime.

You've had it easy, kid,

these last fifteen days

and all you've done for me so far

is ignore the screams in the bedroom, while your mother and I

try to work things out.

Well, today, I say 'enough.'

It's been fifteen days, and, at thirteen years old

it's time you earned your keep.

Tomorrow, you begin work in the family salt mines

starting at the bottom

so that you can work your way

out of the hole

your lost father left you.

No, my red-headed step-child,

there is no escape from this fate

this is how you will spend the next few days, months

decades, millennia?

It matters not.

It's time you worked for me

and nothing you can say will sway me.

There's really not much talk in fables about wicked stepfathers

until today.