The bowls were in the cupboards
Were latched and closed,
Were plastic, unlocked, and pickable.
“Not in there”, but there isn’t any
Where else to go, right now
Where no one talks over her
And no one doesnt yell.
That fast the bowl’s a bike,
Sure. I’m running beside it
Sure you won’t tip, or topple
At a tilted curb or stop. My
Sore knees need ice. So,
Sore, I will when we get home
Every time I get to.