Leaning forward over the purple plastic plate -
It's like pink! It's close in the rainbow
and you buy it, you own it, you now ask for
sister colors where one can serve
as the other when your brother
demands the pink or moves too quickly
like the prince of cats
snatches, dashes, grins, guilty.
Leaning forward to scoop with your purple spoon -
It has to match! Of course it does
how can we even think of eating
if the spoon differs in shade
from the plate
what a catastrophe
a disaster, a meltdown
you can't imagine anything worse.
I can, of course, I do, but you
don't have to and if this is it
well, that's cool.
Leaning forward, the edges of your hair slip past your ears -
Oh no! My hair! And there's ketchup on the ends now
red drops clinging to the edge of you
and you scowl and point and yowl
for a paper towel.
How can we even think of eating
when there's ketchup in your hair
and it's a fair point.
Wiped off, you smile, I smile
you raise your spoon above your head.
Leaning forward, I stand because I cannot stand -
Avocado! What? I cannot stand how perfect you are,
how I sometimes want to squeeze you Steinbeck-style
a bunny, an innocent, a funny little girl
who calls me out when the hug's too long,
the kiss too strong.
How how how how from such meat
such imperfection such imitation as myself
were you made?
Leaning back, lips smacking contentment -
I'm full! And maybe you are and maybe you're not
and maybe I am and maybe.