Balloons

Balloons

They gave balloons to all the kids,

in hopes (my guess) of keeping

them occupied as parents shopped.

Helium-filled, squeaky red spheres

of shimmering joy, tied on each slender

wrist, and the scheme did work,

for a while at least, until we

tried to take it off to strap him

in his seat and he screamed

holy hell; and we fingered

the string to feed him supper,

and he fought us off; and it was

time for bath and there was No Way

he was going to wear it in the tub,

but he gave our ears such a

buffeting that we gave in, washing

around the knotted white twine.

Then time for bed, and now

for sure he would obey or else,

and the hollering resumed; finally

I had enough, took the balloon

in my furious hands and wrenched—

Pop! My sudden act of benevolence.

And later, sleepless, I wondered if God

felt guilty for ending our fun

over one shiny red obsession.

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