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Ode to the Common Wipie

For my dear friend on the occasion of her baby shower, I composed this poem and attached it to her gift:

Forgive me, please. It’s such a bore
To receive wipies – nothing more.
But truly, after eighteen years
Of wiping noses, faces, rears,


There IS no finer “Mothers’ Tool.”
Nothing that you learned in school
(about cloth diapers, Boppys, slings
Or lots of other fancy things),
Can ever, ever quite surpass
The bag of wipes in Mother’s stash.

You’ll use them to “de-drool” the cars,
Wipe the slime from baby-food jars,
Wash their hands, and feet, and faces
(And, of course, the other places).

A thousand jobs these wipes will do,
And then you’ll hear of something new.
A task you had not thought before
To do with this hard-working “bore.”

Now, keep your wipies close at hand,
At home, abroad, in playground sand.
A wiser Mom taught me. It’s true!
And now, I pass it on to you.

And by their wipies, you will know
The other Moms, wherever you go.

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