Under the Sink

I.
Apparently bored with his board books and toys,
Caleb discovered that he can open the cupboard
Under the sink.

I was disconcerted to discover
Him eating out of the pot that holds
Compost scraps.
Why he wanted moldly apple cores and stale bread
When he had buttered fresh bread and peeled pears
Available, I don’t know.

And it could be a lovely metaphor
For how we sometimes choose the lesser option,
Except the entire situation disgusts me,
And I’d rather not talk about it,
Let alone write something poetic.

II.
I was rereading favorite quotes feeling literary
And elevated,
When suddenly I heard the onomatopoetic
Glug-glug-glug
Of an unknown liquid leaving a bottle rapidly,
And a sudden Caleb cry.

I dashed the twenty feet from couch to kitchen,
And there found the dishwasher soap
In a viscid puddle around my son,
So slippery that, much as he tried to escape
From the scene of the crime,
He could not get his feet under him.
After scrambling several times,
He decided he might as well make the best of it,
And happily started to splash and play.
The puddle spread.

It was easy enough to clean up—
It is soap after all—
And the puddle mostly ended up back in the bottle.

I’ve been a parent for more than twelve years.
This was a new one for me.