Fiberloo

(My poem, the rebel)

.

Don’t blame me.

My poem named
……………herself.

She also dressed
herself, which might explain
the turquoise tutu and the
one purple knee sock
and the emerald tiara.
And the cape. Let us not
forget the cape.

Please send help.

She’s
about to go out
into the streets,
proclaiming her love
for cheap rum
and scientific phrases like
phylum, and random
hyphens
and parchment paper
and all things orange
(which, as we all know, rhymes
with nothing.)

She has informed me
(stomping one Doc Martened foot)
that she is not in the mood
to fill in the blanks. Nope. No thanks.

She’s all hopped up
on cinnamon rolls and superlatives,
and there’s no telling what sort of bro
-ken
stanzas she might leave
in her wake.

I am badly in need of an eraser.

Or a taser. Or at least a laser
pointer, to distract her like a cat
(look! shiny object! exquisite adjectival
phrase! let’s go eat some cold plums!)

Drat. Now she’s on the jungle
gym, tutu splayed and panties showing
(they are, of course, hot pink). I think
perhaps not much is going to get done
to
day.

She’s started a food fight
(spaghetti and grape jelly)
and a sit in
(Down with iambic pentameter!)
and a stand up routine
(So, Poe and Em Dickinson walk into
a space bar…)

and a jump rope contest
with her long, long braids.

She’s wielding blades
of grass and porcupine quills
and a smallish alligator
on a silver chain
(snap!)

Wait. Huh.
Will you look at that?

She’s worn herself out,
and she’s taking a nap.

Shhhhhh.

.
PAD, day 20, and gettin’ punchy.

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10 Responses to Fiberloo

  1. Kir Piccini says:

    Your poem looks and sounds MAH-VELOUS, darling. xo

  2. Mia says:

    Oh my goodness, this is awesome! These are my absolute favorite parts:
    “turquoise tutu and the one purple knee sock and the emerald tiara”
    “She has informed me (stomping one Doc Martened foot)”
    “She’s all hopped up on cinnamon rolls and superlatives”
    “tutu splayed and panties showing”
    “jump rope contest with her long, long braids”

    • Mia says:

      When I read this, my mind bends the first two parts together into various combinations, like, “My poem named herself me” and “My poem named me herself.”

      • Mia says:

        Oh, me. The title just changed into “fiber loo”! I was thinking it said “fibber” at first. But without that second “b,” I think this must be about going potty! She is a little thing, isn’t she? Your poem must still be potty training! At least she eats enough fiber. You are a good mommy. 🙂

  3. drnurit says:

    She’s a sweetheart!

  4. This reminds me SO of chasing a toddler and the exhaustion that ensues and the sheer pointlessness of fighting! I love all the details and most especially the way she’s dressed!

  5. PSC says:

    LOL I love her! (Call me when she wakes up.) 🙂

  6. drpkp says:

    Yes De I agree – this is simply wonderfully masterful – “Shel” whom I do believe you love would be proud to know you. This poem perfectly describes joy – superlatives sag when trying to comment- throughly DE-LIGHT-FULL ❤

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