Writing 201: Poetry
Prompt: fingers
Form: Prose Poem
Device: Assonance

She mashes her fingers
through the apple and food
debris with abandon
flipping, squealing,
snorting, laughing
until the tray is clean and
the food all in her hair
is a decoration of ornate resistance
to the fact that she should now be asleep.

She delicately touches her edible afro
to document its existence, yelling,
“Blay, blah, blah, blee, ja, ja,ja Whee!” a sock flies.
Then she sleeps the sleep of a marathon runner
in her high chair.

Any thoughts on the above post are appreciated! Otherwise, I think I must be living under a rock.

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