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by Martin Richard Nelson
My little helper
 goes by the name of Bob
 keeping me company
 with all my never-ending jobs.
Always by my side
 working, oh so well.
 Can I do without him?
 Can I?  Bloody hell!

One day, early spring
 outside painting our house,
"I'll help you, daddy",
 fell happily from his mouth.
 painting wall and floor
 painting window sill
 painting everything...
 that stood remotely still. 

I turned for a second
 (a cup of tea I think)
 he disappeared in a 
 momentary blink.
Paint was on his clothes
 in his hair, in his mouth
 and all around his eyes.
Oh, spotty white chameleon
 impossible to recognize. 

Then came the papering
 (oh, joyous time for all)
 "I'll help you daddy"
 came a far off, friendly call.
Old clothes, donned in a flash
 baseball hat on head
 brush in hand, paste in bucket
 normalcy abruptly departed.

He enjoyed, oh so much
 this gluey, glumpy feeling
 of pasty little hands
 of pasty face, then sneezing
 from his pasty little nose
 'twas pasty every place.
He having the appearance
 of a monster from outer space.

Finally at the end of his day
 he'll fall asleep, contented 
 (after his tea and a wee play)
 dreaming of things not mended.
And I'll think to myself
 if God has his way
 that my little helper
 will grow up strong one day
 with his own little helper
 by his side
 working through his day.

He is my little toolbox of life
 my hammer
 my saw
 my strength. 

For Bob

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