Rice and Beans

a short poem of a typical day

One step. Two steps. Four steps. Seventeen.

Mommy writes on the page, I throw rice and beans.

All…Over…The…Floor.

One wipe. Two wipes. Four Wipes. Never clean.

Mommy should just give up tryna clean up after me.

One toy. Two toys. Four toys. Never mind.

I decided, just now: I just want to go outside.

One breath. Two breaths. Four Breaths. Settle down.

Mommy’s almost lost her mind, keeping up with you, and these stupid rhymes.

One up. One down. No, up again. No! Put me down.

There are things over there, so much fun on the ground.

One boob. Two boobs. Out your shirt. Take it off.

I don’t care where we are, milk machine, on my clock.

One whine. Two squeals. Four laughs. Never sleep.

I make it hard for mommy [sometimes], but I know that she still loves me.