We style our children according to our Values
In designer snacks
And second-hand shoes
We show those other parents
How it’s done. 
Team uniforms
The latest teenage cut
On the four-year-old.
How dirty they’re 
Allowed to get at play.
They play,
His, zir, zirs.
Education on his sleeve
Or how up-to-date our correctness is. 
No cowboy and indian,
Native American, Indigenous, First People.
Halloween costumes here.
We play power politics on the playground,
We show privilege in unbrushed hair
In dirty, holy, too small clothes…
My child is too creative 
Free
Independent
Strong-willed
To conform to cleanliness and what you think ze should wear. 
He sleeps when he’s tired. 
Chooses between the five options put before him. 
All healthy, of course. 
I am telling you the food my refrigerator can afford.
And that I don’t need to wake 
At sunrise to get him dressed and out the door so I can go to work.
Unless, of course, that’s the only time
I could possibly fit in yoga. 
We lay all our insecurities bare at the playground.
Creativity is the skill to learn
For tomorrow’s unknown jobs.
My MFA and dad’s PhD aren’t guaranteeing green enough for
Four or five options on the table.
But it’s all part of the plan.
Delayed gratification is perhaps 
The best indicator for a successful life.
But he can have that cookie; 
It’s organic.