Like a koala bear on eucalyptus, she clings to her mother’s
Leg, howling. Her father plucks her loose
And carries her to bed. He says nothing. Enough
Words have steamed the air from the pressure cooker
Of the long day’s doings from nursery school
To carnival. I recall, if he does not,
A time when he too cried unconsolably
All the way to the doctor’s office and back
Because a new and tired mother slapped
A toddler who had thrown her glasses on the floor. The
prescription
Issued by an annoyed pediatrician was aspirin for her
And more tolerance for him. I tell this tale
To my daughter-in-law, who is sponging magic marker
From the carpet with regret for the scolding she has given my
grandchild.
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