He mostly knows what to expect
when he comes over to my house.
His breakfast egg is smooth and
It's a cracked shell and something
for which he contributes pepper.
Like his whirly toy with its round
wood platform suspended by strings,
he spins one way till the tension
builds, then swings back the other,
only when he's lost his interest.
Surprise is half the game, even
if only pretend. Who's under
that hat, and who's eyes are hidden?
A freight train looms, and he watches
each boxcar until it is gone.
At his own pace, with a nudge from
he guides us toward what he wants
Each devise must be shown how it
Each spice on the rack, each TV
cartoon, reaffirmed by name.
His drawings follow the human
pattern-first scribbles like circles
then confident swirls, round-
and roundnow dots placed over those
It's his own wave/particle scheme.
After I've cleaned his bottom, we
tickle and roughhouse off to bed.
And reading his book, he waves
at the bad puppy chewing a shoe,
but we both know nothing is wrong.