Monday’s lunch is fire of face;
Soft snores from the other room
Might as well be an air-raid siren:
This is the Child Who Does Not Nap.
Noon is nine hours too soon,
her forehead five degrees too warm,
my worry immeasurable.
Tuesday’s lunch is full of haste;
“I don’t know how you do it,” said the woman with a nanny.
“Well, a lot of it just doesn’t get done, if you want to know the truth.”
Her smile spreads, no further north than her nose.
She didn’t want to know the truth.
Wednesday’s lunch? It tastes of crow.
The sign outside the restaurant suggests I should be lovin’ it. I am not.
Teenagers everywhere, loud and inappropriate.
What the hell was I think– Oh SURE.
He had to go play peek-a-boo with my kid, just to prove me wrong.
Thursday’s lunch, more joy than woe.
They wouldn’t call them juice berries if they didn’t have juice in them.
A departure from my usual “my kid said something hilarious!” and “hey lookee mah talkin’ box makes picture stories!” content, the post above was written in response to this week’s writing challenge.