By Lidena Carr.
He’s angry at the table.
Won’t sit up or sit still.
He fidgets where he’s able,
Aiming not to eat his fill.
He’s trying to tell me something now.
I need to fill him up.
I pop the spoon in before he speaks,
He looks at me, fed up.
He’s tired my little, tiny lad,
He needs to go to bed.
But if he’s not full up,
It just won’t work for his head.
Finally, he gets a word in,
He holds the spoon down, angry.
With his hand in place he firmly states,
‘Mum, I’m really hungry!’
