Soapbox

Tucker-Bee

Tippy-toe paws of downy fur,
steady blue eyes and a damp pink nose,
chewing my toes and ready to play
at five o'clock in the morning-
then fast asleep beneath the kitchen chair
when I pick up the leash at 8 AM.

Small one, sometimes I think
you are nothing more than a living mouth
with four feet and a bladder!
Don't give me that innocent look,
you've been gnawing on something,
I just know it!
Spit out those car keys!
Don't chew the computer cord
and let go of my pants leg!
Awww, don't pee in the flowers.
Sit, baby, sit. Please!
Heavens, where did you find an ink pen?

I sit on the floor to put my shoes on, and,
abandoning the thrill of attacking a cardboard box,
you squirm onto my busy lap.
I move to push you off but,
with a sigh of great contentment
and the total trust and faithfulness
that only baby things possess,
you are asleep in an instant,
one leg trailing behind you on the floor.

My previously impatient hand
rests gently on your head,
strokes your satin ears
and I can't remember where it was
I was going in such a hurry, anyway.