you babble like an idiot
but since you’re only three I can excuse you
trampling the rules stomping over etiquette
grabbing one guy’s nose while he’s trying to talk
Beatles with our father
fondling the fly of another pimply teen
small talk can be so superficial
why not draw these suitors out
skip to the heart of the matter
why are you here you ask them
before they answer you tell them go away
and take your tiny fists and use them to make
an impression on their sad sacks
some girls carry flour sacks from home ec
I learn the burden of childrearing
carrying you sleeping on my chest
our mother sends me newly licensed
to the store with a list and you in the car seat
I feel firsthand the looks that people use to
slay and judge when they see me pushing you in
a grocery cart picking out diapers and cereal
a living toddling chastity belt
better than any guard dog
more devoted to my protection
than any targeted Nancy Reagan campaign
embarrass startle break the ice
your tiny digits come from nowhere and travel
up his nose like errant bees
you charm and disarm even the most capable
bandits who seek to steal me away
Amy Baskin writes poetry, stories, picture books and non-fiction. Her work is currently featured in NonBinary Review, Sein Und Werden, The Gorge Journal, Rat’s Ass Review, Random Poem Tree, and Mothers Always Write and is forthcoming in McGraw-Hill Big Books. She’s worked on the revision process with Oregon’s former poet laureate Paulann Petersen, and participating in an online sonnet critique group with Allison Joseph.