Author: Dianne B.
What’s in the mug, I wonder—
He stumbles from the room.
Moving close, I hold my breath
Putting my hands over Raggedy Ann’s
Stitched mouth and triangle nose, fearful
It might do to us what it does to him—
The smelly brown liquid.
Why?
Why drink something
That smells like the cleaner mom uses
Only for the bathroom.
It takes my breath away when she does.
I stare down into the mug until I have to breathe.
Crash!
I don’t flinch.
Neither does Ann.
The rubber tree plant falls into view,
Dirt spiling out of the pot.
Then him trying to steady himself,
On the door frame.
He trips toward me.
Eyes of fire and glass,
Green like the shaggy rug.
He pats my head
Missing and hitting my ear
Plopping in his seat.
He drinks it—
The smelly brown liquid.
Why?
