Oh Great Haiku in the sky
Send sweet releaf from tears you cry
Our minds are barren
Our papers dry
Flood our seeds of poetry
A harvest soon approaching
A festival of frowns & smiles
All are welcome, Men, Women, Child
From there to now and then
We feast upon the blessed poem.

In mouth, put-
choo-choo kazoo chomp chomp YUM!
Mmmm MMMMMMmmm.
Whosagoodbaby!?
Whosagoodbaby!?*

The infant hears,
wondering if all adults talk this way,
chuckling to himself, the ridiculousness tickling his vibrating mind
looking on at the goofy giant babbling  gibberish
who seems oddly ecstatic
to feed colorful mush.
The child contemplates the intricacies of communicating
the smelly in his shorts.