tough cookie
the loud variety toddler
we’re all slaves to her merriment
i can hear her down the hall screaming and yelling
as her parents pacify her with music
can hear her through my walls
she’s a delightful child
her laughter is ear piercing and mind numbing
though deaf and blind
my cat still raises an eye
when the child squeals with delight
she’s maybe two, i don’t know
i can’t gauge children until they’re about ten
and then i just don’t like them
but she’s getting too big for her stroller
whenever mom or dad want to put her around
there is a pissing and moaning match
that also comes through my walls
like someone blasting bass on the floor above
so they just let sweetheart push the stroller
mom and dad sit in the hallway on old pink-painted benches
playing with their phones or staring into the void
they look like they’ve had it with the world
as cutie pie pushes the stroller around
and screams and sings and shouts
and sometimes falls on her face
sprawled out on the checkered marble like a prize fighter
with the stroller toppled on top of her back
without mom or dad even noticing
because this tough cookie never cries when that happens
i remember when mom and dad used to kiss in the hallway
how every saturday morning
they’d go, hand in hand, up the street for starbucks coffee
now when i see them their eyes are dead
and it takes all of their will to muster a hello
when the child yells
there’s a flinch to them that speaks of some PTSD
some trauma with the power to shake their very core
but the child is so cute
she such a blessing
she looks like a little magpie from a cartoon tv show
i’ve heard that child rearing is its own reward
i’ll have to take people’s word on that.
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