Skye
by Bill Haley

Skye crouched in the corner like a coiled spring,
his little balled up body so small it was almost hidden
despite no solid thing to cover or shield him.
The walls on either side gave no inch
though he tried to pinch more tightly in,
not yet having learned that a three year old can’t move walls.
The enemy moved noisily in the other room,
oblivious to the rage of a child that fumed.
He could hear her, she was there no doubt,
but wouldn’t even come near so he could have it out
with her and unleash his anger in a hail of blows.
Then that snake made a dreadful mistake and
stepped within sight- the tiny storm did break.
Like a tiger springing he made his attack, squealing
“I want candy NOW!” like a baby demoniac,
and to her leg clinging started kicking her shoe.

“Well, Skye!  There you are!  I’ve been looking for you.
Dinner’s ready and I think you’ll be pleased,
I made your favorite, macaroni and cheese.”
His mom scooped him up and gave him a squeeze.
Skye stopped crying, wiped his puffy little eyes,
stopped squirming, gave a gasp with a couple heaving sighs
And laid his head on his mother’s shoulder.
“You know, Skye, when you’re older I can’t carry you like this,”
on his rumpled hair she gave him a kiss,
and thought about what it takes to get a hug
from a three year old boy.