Morning Hysteria

when I shouted to her
as a desperate father:
DON'T TOUCH IT!
My daughter pounted her lips
and burst into tears--
tears like falling raindrops,

My exploding voice scared her
fingers out of the little rosy plastic potty
she was sitting on and shitting

I dashed into the kitchen
and grabbed her hand
it was late--
her finger tips had already got it

Be your dady's good girl
Don't play with your poo
It's dirty and gross, my wife said
trying to talk sense
to her while preparing breakfast

I felt as if I had wronged her
as she was sobbing in her shaky body
she was only 11-month old
too young to tell
poo from toy

I shouldn't have shouted. I said
in an eased voice, and then
cleaned her and washed her hands
I gave the potty a glimpse--
her poo was innocent and healthy

I couldn't ask for more
after days of her indigestion