Literary Pixie Press

KƏr lay kƏr lay
to me my mom would say.
KƏr lo kƏr lo
to my son do I now say.


Do it Do it
it translates in Hindi,
Like a chant I heard it 
so much as a kid.


God didn’t bless me with 
the daily Do It genes.
I’d fret and grunt as I
sat on the Indian latrine. 


Legs wide apart
butt hanging in the air,
expectant I sat
hoping for my fair share.


My mother conversely 
is like clockwork.
a cup of water down
insta-pot like she goes.


I had a cousin who
would sing himself to poop.
I have relatives who
need a cup of chai to “do”.


I’ve grown up now
and live in another country.
You’d think this affliction
would’ve left me.


Let me tell you now
my son loves potty talk.
He sits on his kid potty
and lets his rockets out.


My husband and I smile
at each other in glee
when he yells to us
Mummy, mainey kƏr lee. (I’ve done it)