Literary Mama writing about the many faces of motherhood
Alien Fist

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The three-year old's hand is an enormous fist,
rings of alien lights wink on its width.
He slams the fist into the floor.
The lights are menacing, like a crazy revolving door.
The fist transforms into a living thing that speaks,
"I will blast your arms into pieces,
I will blast your toes and then your feet."
I say, "you've blasted my arms thrice already.
If you blast them now the cake won't be ready."
The thing says, "then I will wait,"
"I will blast the wall till you bake the cake."
Minutes later the thing is back.
It is crying and looks very sad.
"You are not letting me blast you," it says,
"You are always making me wait."
I say, "well, the cake is in the oven,
you can blast me from here till heaven."
The thing lights up, says, "but you have to run."
Then the chase begins, around the house, in fun.


Radhika Singh lives in San Jose, California, and writes fiction and short stories. She is married and has one child. She is working on completing a novel. She writes a blog on limericks.


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I love this--the fierce little one!
oh my goodness-- :) this is my son, my house! loved this!
I love this poem: its formal qualities of meter and rhyme give the little boy something to fight against! Zara Raab
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