The world we’re in’s mundane. Inert and brute
The magic we do have is sparse and rare
I’m not a wizard, but I know some spells
I cast them when the tools I bring to bear
Upon the world are insufficient for
The task at hand, the bringing up and care
Of Violet, the little one whose laugh
Is like birdsong exultant on the air
But even she gets moody, cries and yells -
Who doesn’t need a tantrum here or there?
One invocation I have mastered is
The one where, Violet on my hip, I snare
A water glass within my adult grip
And say “I’m thirsty” through her siren blare.
The faucet on is usually enough
Alone to cease the histrionic fare
Lift up her curiosity anon
As up the glass is filled, no space to spare.
The giant glass I bring to adult lips
I quaff the thing with one long pull, no air
Do I take in throughout this sorcery
When I am done, I fix on her my glare
With smile affixed, ‘n exaggerated “Ah!”
Relief I spill, some patter, keep her there
In tow, astonished at the alchemy
Forgot her tears, complicit in our prayer
Now she demands a turn to try the trick
A little water pour I for her share
The tiniest of sips she pulls on her own turn
But, ah, her “ah!” makes mine downright threadbare
The summoning complete, we stash the glass
Vacate this place, through cluttered house she tears
The tantrum gone, illusion all dispelled
I know some spells. I use them here and there.
Want more poems? Click to read through the archives!
Thanks for reading. This is Phil.