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Poem: Potty Training 

A little throne sits on the floor
just inside the bathroom door.
It’s time for diapers to be gone.
Potty training time’s begun.

Her pudgy legs and backside bare
take her to this fancy  “chair,”
bedecked with plastic jewels glued on.
It plays a tune and sings a song.

Upon the wall behind her head’s
a sticker chart with columns red
and titles on the top in blue
for “#1” and “#2.”

You can tell she is quite skilled.
The chart with stickers bright is filled.
And she, with pride, invites us in—
so we can watch—our praise to win.

But then one day when I am there,
All she hears come out is air.
There is no tune to greet that sound.
She stands up and she turns around.

No sticker for this will she get.
There is no column for that yet.
With anger, she points to the chart,
“Why is there no place for my fart?”

Speaking of...

  • A poem by Rosalind Spar

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