Baby Shark

Nana gives up.

you don’t want to throw that, i tell him, a lie.

i don’t want him to throw that, but

henry’s in a throwing mood.

my pitch for restraint, background yammer

glass coffee table, put out an eye.

his small jaw sets,   

matchbox car ready to launch from his burled fist.

i appeal to alexa for salvation:

play baby shark!

my first performance, a spirited diversion.  

after the fourth, i hand back the car.