At this point, Little Thing and I have been on the road for three weeks. We are tired. We are delirious. We’ve been on planes. We’ve been on trains. We’ve been in Ubers. I don’t know what day it is and have forgotten what our house looks like in Louisiana. These haiku are the best I can do this week.
I love my girl, but
traveling with little things
takes lots of patience.
She sips ginger ale,
then malevolently spears
ice with her black straw.
The germy tray table
must remain upright and locked
right now, Little Thing.
The man in the seat
in front of you would prefer
you not to kick it.
Is there anyway
to convert used gross tissues
into gold or cash?
Mommy, how dare you
place the baby green pencil
next to the pink one.
Baby green and pink
just broke up so it’s torture.
Please separate them.
San Antonio,
Chicago, and Milwaukee?
What WAS I thinking?
Why did I download
thirty-three new kitty apps?
Ugh. So much meowing.
Aunts and cousins mock
Little Thing’s necessary
eight o’clock bedtime.
Want to scare people?
Ignore your Iphone and write
poems with a pen.
Mrs. Ram's Jams 