Party Girl Bites Guest
It's the birthday party where the party girl bites one of the
and another one manages to tumble down the stairs. There's
and a chocolate cake that nearly slid top layer off bottom
the stove has a slant or is it the house? Perhaps mother's
are unsteady. There's 5 little candles on the cake and
and wants to go home. It's the party where mother does her
to keep all the kids from crying. It can go like that. The
get passed hand and to hand. Daughter pitches a fit. The
children have had
their cake and ice cream, candy, that strange sugary air that
from the mouths of children. Their hands sticky, and that rim
around their lips.
How their hair smells of it at those parties. Sweat and Baby
and the little candies each one ate as fast as she could.
Mother is in the front room
trying to change the tune. She bounces up and down. She's
pinning the tail
on the donkey. There's no more prizes and it's time for
piņata. The stick
in the hands of small children blindfolded. It's how the fun
goes. Ten small
yips as the piņata breaks. Not enough sweet to go around. To
where they need to get glued. All the way home, the children
to what they touch. Fuzz between their fingers. Lint in their
Carol Potter is mother of two grown daughters who were bona
fide "free-range" babies - seen, heard, disheveled,
wild little hippie kids, and she is daughter of one 80 year
old mother who has withstood the various shocks supplied by
her own free-ranging children.
If you've any comments on this poem, Carol Potter would be
pleased to hear from you.