Babbler Boy

Nine years, and he still can't talk,
can't say, "don't want that,"
"take it back,"
or "find my blue toy."

He lives where the butter screams,
where jam cries for bread
and the knife begs to slather out
its diced-up dreams.

He can mimic the squeak of bad brakes,
the quick hiss of a soda being opened,
and the scream-like sneeze of an old woman.

He can sound like doors closing,
the scattered creak of footsteps up stairs
and the chatter of wind-caught leaves.

But he can't talk when the butter screams
while the jam cries for bread
and the knife begs to slather out
its diced-up dreams.

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