She threw words at him
Like knives.
He had his own weapon of choice
Two eyes peered at them
Over Mr. Potato Head’s head
Overlooking the missing nose
Tiny footsteps, one by one
Holds the table to steady himself and finds
A jar of marmalade
And fresh bread.
The shattering of glass
And the cluttered floor
Stop the wrangle momentarily
Rushing in, she scoops him up,
“Are you alright, my love?”
Rushed off, soon,
As the floor sparkles clean
He gets lost in the Lost Boys
And Tiger Lily,
Leaving behind the morning clutter
The rest as quiet as a dove.
She threw words at him
Like knives.
He had his own weapon of choice
Shots were being fired in the lawn
Amidst sprinklers in the spring
He could hear them over Polo
Barking at his next door competitor
He crawled from under the broken fence
Like Polo did
Needed fixing, more said than done
They didn’t notice until the ice cream truck
Started incessant honking
He turned around, annoyed,
Only to find him in the hands
Of the across street flower vendor
“Are you alright, son?”
The fence was fixed the next morning.
She threw words at him
Like knives
He had his own weapon of choice
She pushed her plate of half diced tomatoes aside
To greet him properly in the hallway
Chewing on his caramel toffee
Little fingers found the dicing knife
Abandoned.
They didn’t hear him over their pleasantries
He didn’t cry for long anyway.