Getting Up

(4-29 June 1992) after Alexander Anderson

Kiddo is already awake her face turned toward the wall. —It’s 8 o’clock; get up; get up. I hear her only moan. —You can quit pretending. —You’ll be late for school. —Says who, she says. —Says I, say I. —Who besides you, is her reply. Instead of arguing, I leave her room, and turn on some loud music. I like this music; it fills the house, until, in the middle of a note, it stops. Then I hear the the toilet flush, and water gushing in the sink . . . She resists; OK, but so do I. Either way, who could be right? Neither too sensitive nor too dull, we face the day. If we’re happy, we’re odd in our own little ways.