Broccoli

Three-year-old Jia sat at the table

Longer than her parents were able

To muster the patience to sit and watch

All the while their plans she’d botch. 

Jia wouldn’t eat her veggies

Her parents made each pledge, each

Promise which she did mock fully;

Jia wouldn’t eat her broccoli. 

Dad ate some and hoped she’d follow. 

Nevertheless she wouldn’t swallow. 

He’d managed to get it in her mouth,

But she was determined it wouldn’t go south. 

Jia just sat there and chewed

And the little green trees in her mouth just stewed. 

Her mother begged her to digest it. 

There was no point to request it. 

Jia sat with mouth bitter

But the thought never hit her

That if she swallowed just that bite

She could go and play tonight. 

Surely playing and being active

‘Stead of sitting here was more attractive

Nevertheless she sat and stewed 

And refused to eat her food. 

Her parents begged and pleaded. 

Jia simply would not heed it. 

The gross green gushing from her lips

Her stubbornness could not eclipse. 

She sat and sat and sat and sat. 

Her brothers could play and chase and chat. 

But Jia sat with her mouth full,

Frozen, inconvincible. 

Hour passed in the clock, leaving

So little time till bed. The broccoli 

In her mouth was slush. 

Jia gave in and downed the mush. 

Her parents cried aloud with joy

When she showed it was not a ploy. 

She opened wide for them to see

That gone was every little tree. 

The gross taste was no more;

No longer could that mush deplore. 

Jia felt joyous and light. 

Did she realize she shouldn’t fight?

For now she gets to run and play

And enjoy the rest of her day. 

Her parents prayed she’d learned her lesson

To deal with dislikes, not let their mess in.