His parents are mid-30s, well-to-do,
besotted with him, and of course they vow
to raise him perfectly, with this year’s new
devices, paying experts to learn how.
They purchase toys and gadgets to enrich
the eating, drinking, bathing episodes.
Dishwasher-safe, non-toxic, he can switch
among five hue-coordinated modes.

But I know him. He’d rather imitate
the folks he sees. He wants a spoon and fork.
He’d really like that dinner on a plate.
He needs to practice being us. His work
is difficult, for sure, but this I know:
He doesn’t need cute plastic tools to grow.