Poetry Thursday

Tiny Warrior

I dare you, she said
white knuckles tight fisted on the wheel
teeth clenched, jaw rigid
fire darting from steely blue eyes.
I dare you to do that again.
Harnessed safely behind her, he sat.
Chubby loins girded defiantly,
miniature Nikes poised to strike.
Should I? or not?
In one swift motion, the decision was made
THUMP! on the seat at the small of her back.
She freezes.
He laughs.
She cries.
I cheated a litte on this week's Poetry Thursday suggestion (which was to "listen in" on some anonymous converstions) because this poem was inspired by a second hand experience a friend of mine related to me. When she described this scene with her sister and nephew, I was reminded of how powerless our children can make us feel sometimes. I really sympathized with this mother, whose car seat had been kicked umpteen times while she's sitting in traffic. Yes, you would want to scream at that child, who is really only tired and bored, just like you are. But sometimes the effort to subdue all your baser instincts is just so humongous that all you can manage to do is cry.