We sit under a blanket on the couch
and you ask me again
to tell you about
how you went crazy this morning.
So I start with the part
when your dad cut into the banana
for porridge
forgetting that you wanted to do the banana part
and it was our last banana
so dad offered to tape it back together
and when that only made it worse
I tried making the sliced part
into a mouth so the banana
could plead with you himself.
But you were like an avalanche
of fury at this point
desperate for futile things
like orange juice in a cup we don’t own
and for it not to be Saturday
ever.
I tell you about how you writhed and flung
as though the mad
was like a big dog inside you
wanting to get out,
and I tell you about how it ended
with a trick about raisins
and how when you finally ate the porridge
the calm was thick and sudden
like pouring water on a fire.
But your favourite part
is when I tell you about
the middle of the storm
when you marched over to me
and said
I want to kiss you
and I said
that’s sweet my goose
I would love a kiss
and you said
I said I want to kick you
which pushed me
right past my own rage
into an utter conquest
of laughter.