Terrible two was stuffing his face
with salty yellow little biscuit
fish-shapes. He would dump
a handful into a glass bowl
and stagger around, munching.
Pulpy yellow biscuit would
dribble down his chin and fingers
into the glass bowl like
ketchup onto new tie.
The photographer was weeping,
thinking perhaps of more pleasant
tasks, like sewer patrol in July.
Mother was rummaging among the sale on
pedal-pushers, searching for her lost youth.
The youth in question had found the bottom of the bag.
