I am seated on the high chair.
The mean old lady force feeds me.
A cold metal spoon crosses my mouth roughly past my cheek.
She feeds me food that resembles play dough.
This one has a mean face.
She tries to play peekaboo.
I smirk with a lonely grimace.
She doesn’t seem to notice.
The other one had milk white teeth with a little brown tint.
I liked her.
The other one before that one wore jewelry that made me squint.
I mean what does it take for me to have one Nana?
“Park and leave” of the day has been the order.
Maybe to bear this is worthily a good fortune.
But before I have a choice how could I know?