To my grand daughter who is 3 year plus:
A small comfort to dig,
pieces of gunk, small or big,
flip the flakes into bed sheets,
like spit out unwanted sweets.
“Don’t sleep with you,” so naughty,
“will pick and put back”, nose, not filthy.
The toddler giggles, proud of her reply,
at this precocious age, she dares to defy.
Ask how many fingers she possess,
ten, more when bigger, she expresses,
The teacher taught that, child denies,
“She says we have too many fingers”, she lies.
Yet praises and thumbs-up in her class report,
at home, a model reversal, is a spoiled sport.
PS: Part of my retirement “work” is looking after, or in fact, playing with three grand children. To enter into their world, I have to remove my own barrier. I can be more silly than them and they enjoy that role – funny, but always loving. To return to adult social world, there is often a time lapse. That lapse is peaceful; lesser burden. If you are caught with a few drinks, you are drunk or childish.There is no need to defend – that lightness and buoyancy cannot be experienced by those who are too serious in life for the wrong reasons. This poem is a “small comfort” for those who share such flow and flowering.
This 3 year plus, who still cannot write, uses the word, gunk, and send me looking at the dictionary.