It’s fatigue that makes him rage on;
hunger pains further fueling
the fierce outbursts.
I see the crazed look in his eye,
and understand.
Yet my understanding fails
to beget greater reserves of patience.
And his perception of my impatience
only begets greater reserves of intensity.

He needs a nap.
He needs a snack.
I need a deep breath.

But still we dance through
and consequences,
until he finally succumbs to sleep
in the time-out chair,
and I succumb to mindlessly eating
those damn Goldfish crackers
that would have solved most of our problems.