The Regulator

You leave for four days.
I stay home with the kids,
unable to produce a firm stool.
Some people get under the skin.
Some get stuck in the heart.
You, I’m afraid to say, are
the regulator of my bowels.
When I tell you this,
you try hard to be flattered.
Thank you for being such a sport.
Your effort is what unites the home front.
When you’re on the road,
everything falls apart.
You are the Velcro that holds down the flaps.
You mean more to me
than my oatmeal, dear.