Poetry

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Blondie locks, four, thinks she's seven.
At Antoines five star taste of Heaven.

Tinkering a plate between index and thumb
delinqunint smile. Oh, she's not dumb.

Parents laugh and look away
"precious daughter"... of dismay

Rolling eyes, serious frowns
precocious brat! What a clown

Child of boho parents
donned in pricey vestments.

The plate falls
and the salad sprawls

on polished black leather shoes
and that demanded of the accused

an apology for certain
but not behind a curtain

Blonde's laughter and sitting backwards
was all the client could take

Manly finger points at dad
"You're brat is naughty and bad!"

But mom and pop's hand waved, "excuse you!"
sending the patron adiue

And their darling escaped scolding
creating squirmming and smouldering

Because mom and pop passe'
chose to look the opposite way

Little blonde muse escaped tonight
And Antoine's with their monetary forsight

Soon mom and pop and blonde ejected
And drive throughs windows is suspected

Antoines flourished again, as usual
and blonde left unpolished and sadly willful...

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