Shred

I am a child. Impulsive and irrational.
Constructing reasons when the deed is done.
Adult rationale beleaguers me --
A limpid attempt to mask the stronger one.

Where strength is a sorry list of failed attempts
to curtail the child that wants then wants some more
Until the wants become a white-noise hum --
this dissonant assembly sings of ploughing fields.

And somewhere I am there. Waiting for my life
Scattering seeds that barely germinate
before the next field is sown. It soon becomes
myriad self-propagating, care-worn dreams.

I turn. Let every child now see the fragile me
say no.
The children scream. For months and months they scream.
I am hoarse with silence. Weariness settles me.

Then let one child have one small sweet
As the van obscures the traffic to the right
The car in front slows. I look still to the right.
It's all right. The excited child in my head
says.
Tired, I accept.
The car and I become one kicking can
And skip and skip, we shunt her on
like shredding cheese for kiddies lunch.