Smile and Odor
Grandson reaches out for me.
First time.
7 months old.
New teeth showing through his smile.
Full of joy.
Smiles never ending.
Pulls at my moustache.
Giggles.
A sound from down below.
A squeal, a grin, the odor.
My wife has a smile for me.
“Your turn.”
I’m off to change his messy diaper.
Nothing more important
In the world.
POOP.
By Douglas John Loudon
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