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
Delinquent smile. Oh, Blossoms impish Madame.

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

Rolling eyes, serious frowns
Precocious brat! You should be home, in a nightgown!

Child of Bohemian parents
donned in pricey Boho vestments.

The plate falls and the salad sprawls
On polished black leather shoes

Demanding an apology for certain
But not behind a curtain!

Blondie's laughter and her sitting backwards
Was more than the client could take

His finger points, "You're brat's a naughty disaster!
But dad mocks an answer of defiant laughter.

Then, mom and pop's hand waved, "excuse you!"
sending the scolding patron "adieu."

So, their darling escaped rebuke
Squirming uncontrolled, followed a puke

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

Little blondie muse dismissed tonight
At Antoine's, perhaps? A monetary foresight

And whispers tell that drive-through windows are where
Blondie dines with mom and pop.

Now Antoines flourishes again, as usual
And blondie left unpolished and sadly still willful...

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