Truck #54

Mommy wake up!
Wakeupwakeupwakeup.

Marcel is pulling at my hand.

He has crawled out of his crib-
the side remains down now
with a chair next to it
so that his escape route is safe.

Because Marcel has places to go

Like out the basement door
and around to the front last week when I was upstairs making dinner and Uncle was in the next room

The very helpful and relieved police officer
(relieved to see the described child in distress
seated at the table eating carrots from a bowl with his truck)
informed me that it was time to get a new doorbell-
since the neighbors tried to tell me that he was out front with a ring
before they called 9-1-1.

Twice.

When Uncle realized Marcel was out front
and not with me
before I realized that he was not with Marc but out front
he came to the rescue
long before Portland's finest.

But nice to know the neighbors are watching
when Marcel is on the move.
(Even if they did tell the policeman it had been half an hour
when it was closer to six minutes tops that
Marcel was at the front door waiting to come in.)

SHHHHHHH
Come here. Come here. SHHHH.
He yells with his finger up to his mouth
and his little garbage truck in his hand-
because you wouldn't want to scare
it away!

Dragged by my index finger out of bed
I wait while Marcel lifts up the curtain to reveal:

Truck #54

RIGHT THERE MOMMY
LOOK!

And I did.
And the trash men did too.
And we all waved and said hello-and thank you for the hard work that you do
And they smiled at Marcel
and he smiled at them
and then smiled at my pajamas
and the drool on my chin
and I smiled at the giant #54 in clean white type against azure blue
my favorite number reminding me
Start the day-don't let the day
start you.