In the Motel Breakfast Room: Poetry by Prescription

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In the Motel Breakfast Room

That little boy
is screaming and mad.
At eight in the morning,
he’s already bad!

He tasted his waffle
and doesn’t want more.
He just dumped his Fruit Loops
all over the floor.

His mom didn’t see
from her side of the room.
The attendant was swift
with her dustpan and broom.

She removed all the cereal
dumped at my feet
by the brattiest child
I ever did meet.

I came to this place
for some coffee and quiet.
I didn’t expect
to encounter a riot.

He’s having a tantrum.
He will not sit down.
His voice at screech level,
his mouth set on frown.

Does he want to go back
to the room? asks his mother
as she struggles to feed
both his sister and brother.

At this breakfast bar set up
for all of the guests,
regrettably, no sign says,
“We don’t serve pests.”

Last night when my friend
went to get us some ice,
“Excuse me, Excuse me,”
the desk clerk said twice

as he ran down the hall
in a manner uncool
heading straight for the door
that leads into the pool.

Now I can imagine this
terrible kid
pushing some button.
(I bet that he did!)

that signaled “Emergency
Call 911!”
watching the panic
and calling it fun.

The manager thinking
“perhaps a cracked head!”
but encountering only
this bad boy instead.

Now this morning my coffee
was ruined by his cries.
This early-day tantrum
a rite I despise.

I started to gather
my coffee and fruit,
then grabbed a few
creamers and sweeteners to boot.

When from my eye’s corner
before I could stand,
at the edge of my table
I saw a small hand.

I looked up to encounter
a smile ear-to-ear.
That horrible child
looked ever so dear!

He flashed me the smile,
for a moment stood near,
then departed the room
nevermore to appear.

When I looked at the table,
an astonishing sight.
He’d left me one Fruit Loop
right there in plain sight.

That child’s behavior
now leaves me in doubt
whether I should remember
the smile or pout.

Was my disapproval
so plain to see
that this tiny child
could see right through me?

And had he the wisdom
to do what he did
simply to remind me
a kid is a kid?

 

Note: The event described in this poem actually happened on May 24 at a motel in Des Moines, IA, where I was attending my nephew’s h.s. graduation party. And yes, this is “the” Fruit Loop, which I still have.  The subject was prescribed by Duckie, who, when I told him what had just happened, said, “You gotta write about this.”  Poetry by Prescription. You suggest the topic.  I will write about it.

6 thoughts on “In the Motel Breakfast Room: Poetry by Prescription

  1. Betty Petersen

    Hola, Love this one…..wen countered same angry screams on plane home just 2seats behind us. Miss you, more maybe mañana, lots to tell Betty

    Sent from my iPad

    >

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  2. Allenda Moriarty

    I promise I won’t throw a tantrum in the morning, and I will NOT be serving fruit loops. Looking forward to your visit.

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  3. anna sime

    I also loved this one. What a good reminder that we all have some growing up to do. I remember when I, too, wanted some peace and quiet and felt disturbed by a disruption, sometimes adults speaking too loudly or kids being kids. The poem is a good reminder that the space we occupy is not MINE but OURS.

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  4. kellyshaw2001

    It’s me…I am that kid now grown. Still stamping my feet, pouting, and eating the grandchildren’s Fruit Loops before they rise. My name is different these days. They call me ‘hubby’.

    Beautiful blog here, Judy. I’ll visit often.

    Kelly

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    1. lifelessons Post author

      Ha! Thanks for kids who never grow up–so long as we aren’t married to them! (imagine a smiling emoji here…I don’t know how to make them on this blog.) Judy

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