We have friends over
and they bring civilized gifts,
homemade jam,
a kaleidoscope for our son.

There is tea and chips,
we talk about her time in Catalonia,
ayurvedic herbs,
the documentary my husband just finished.

It is all so
adult

and then the cry

my sweet boy
who I was so excited to introduce
is awake
but instead of his famous laugh
he looks at the couple,
fists clenched,
and roars.

And so it goes,
the evening passes
and not even the blender,
his latest fixation,
can wrestle his rage away.

But every time he does it,
head thrown back,
the maddest he’s ever been

our friends laugh,
a big
generous
honest
laugh.

They carry no ink
to write down our flaws.

All they see
in the storm on his face
is the little animal inside each of us
that we have long ago tamed.