mini clown

It’s her again.
Our neighborhood’s center of attention.
Stealing people’s sleep at 5am,
arousing tension.

With her incredible talent,
she informs the entire neighborhood that she’s hangry
by squealing acapello that can’t be muffled by a sealant,
or the U.S. Navy.

Her mini hands have plucked away
the pinkest petals right by my kitchen window sill
to place on her shiny brown head for display:
another “adorable” moment that dad couldn’t miss with thrill.

Her mini feet have ruined with delight
my once clean white garage floor,
pressing the pedals, with all her might,
of her mini, pink car even more.

Straight into my open garage she swerved,
to show off her parking skills,
leaving behind a muddy tire mark, curved,
and adding to my monthly bills.

I’m not complaining though,
Because It’s not bad having a rosy blue fuzzball living next door;
Before her arrival, the excitement here was once low;
bubbly laughs do sound better than a lousy old man snore.
And, the cookies she claims she made all by herself
do taste better than the ones I baked myself.