Pardon Me Poetry: a personal reprise

Sharbakti Afternoon

We took our stroller
out onto the dusty streets
noses still crusty, paint stains
on his jeans. They are both
wearing their snowboots.

The playground is freshly painted
in primary colors.
The trees are losing their leaves
but the small sour apples
still cling.

The wind is trying to tell me
something – Oh! my daughter
needs to poop!
(potty training, 2nd week)
Too late for the
pink-starred panties.

I take her across the street
trying to obscure ourselves
behind a small facilities building.
It is quiet but for
the wind and my grumbling.