Any way he can
he gets his head on the floor.
Again, the littlest one has plopped
onto his bottom and thrown his head
forward, his face between his bare feet
on the hard ground.

He looks up, sideways, still scream-crying
to see where I am. I still stand
holding the open applesauce pouch
ready to help him, but he wants
to do it on his own – squeeze full to empty
in seconds, maybe in his mouth, maybe not.

After a good two minutes
I give in and give up
and offer him the open, squeezable container.
He won’t take it now.

He is beyond tired,
beyond angry
wanting love and not wanting it.
I scoop him up and love him anyway.

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