Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Spirited

Eyes, two sparkling lanterns
with dash and dagger,
he clung to the blue plush
cookie-monster,
exercising his "No"s,
exploring tantrums,
chases, races, all havoc,
and our apprenticeship
in surrendering, and
he sprang ahead.

Hanging behind,
we urged him on
with quick applause.

Yet, we're still outside
peeking in, perplexed,
same as when he turned
twelve or twenty-two
and crept past
what we hoped he could do
or is this the residue of
our euphoria from the time
Baby held his head up
and learned to crawl?

prompt: the terrible twos