2012-10-30T11:33:31-07:00October 30th, 2012|Parenthood|

Bums and poo

The muddy pumpkin rolls around
like a head in the trunk of our car

we’re late for your nap
but I still feel pumped up
admiring my own parental chops
for getting to the pumpkin patch at all

you yawn like an old dog
which triggers a convulsion of fidgeting
your body an irritable noodle
that contorts in the car seat
like some strange postmodern dance

but I will not be vanquished
I remind you of the hay ride
the banjo player
how the goat licked your hand

and when you begin to cry real tears
I break into an improvised song
about bums and poo
a paragon of mothering genius
you laugh mad bubbles of snot
and we sing together
all the way home.

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