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Some Days

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Some days their teeth sparkle
and the dirt normally caked under their nails
washes away as 
they beam, sharp and sturdy.
10–11 am: The yellow plastic slide and rusty swings
11am–12pm: Two Chick-fil-a kids’ meals with one Sprite and one milk (chocolate)
Then crowded aisles, armed with sales ads and coupons,
they wait patiently for however long it takes
for the strategic shopper to prevail.
Older watching younger.
“Yes, ma’am”; “no, ma’am”; “please and thank you.”
I beam because they are mine,
and some days their remote controls work.

But other days they stink like boys as
dirt oozes from their pores
and they throw sand at girls under the yellow plastic slide
and rusty swings—
as their tantrums ignite—
“It’s mine!”  The older screams.
“NO!  NO!  NO!”  The younger protests.
Dirt flies and sticks.
And horrified, I smash in the buttons to their remotes: MUTE! Please MUTE!
But they will not
as I madly search for their batteries.


-Renee Phile
(poem inspired by Billy Collins' poem, "Some Days") 


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