A chicken nugget arcs in graceless flight

Past peanut butter-spattered easy chair

Towards a squashed satsuma thrown last night

Then trampled underfoot with thunderous cheer.

I close my eyes and slowly count to ten

Remembering how calm life used to be.

It’s futile trying to make the chaos end -

When asked to stop you escalate with glee.

But then I’ll pick you up, and sticky fingers

Will idly smooth my hackles with a stroke.

I’ll summon what remains of former anger

And ask you if you’re planning to provoke

Me further. With precocious gravitas

You’ll look me in the eye and murmur: “yes”.

Martin Thomas, East Sussex