Newton's Third Law

Laughter floats in
from one of the rooms
at my back

to find me sitting alone
in my high chair
at the kitchen table

Watermelon red with chrome trim
shiny enough to reflect
my pink chubby toes

I don't mind being alone
with disembodied toes
to keep me company

But what do toddlers know
of the push-pull theory?

Still the laughter
still alone
bored with "this little piggy"

I peer over my shoulder
lean back as far as I can
to catch a glimpse of laughing faces

around the door frame,
just need a push
of pink chubby toes against chrome

and I careen backwards,
a dizzying crash to the floor
my soft skull trapped

a father's rough, tan hands
looking for a way in
his eyes, blue with a dark ring

fixed on his breathless child
too shocked to scream
or laugh