Spilled

After clearing up for the night, I was already seeing my bed calling out to my weary bones. Samuel who had refused to sleep was hungry. I wearily went to pour out the remaining oat inwardly thanking God that I still have little already prepared. I added the milk, on lifting the cup to his lips it slipped and poured. This poem was what I wrote to cool my head as I went into automatic overdrive. I called it

SPILLED

He sits down with a string of pearl

Hitting the floor click clack

Into his mouth it goes

Down it comes click clack

Suddenly he looks up

Let’s out a resounding waaa

My cue for his food

Off to the kitchen I went

Two spoons of milk will do

For this cup of oat will do

Plop the milk went in

Kakakaka to clear the spoon

Just to give him

My baby most impatient

Splat goes the cup all over the settee

A glob of milk in the middle

Like one-eyed Sunday  in my primary reader

Mocking me.