Babysitting Blues
Sinking into the overstuffed floral cushions of Mrs. Heneldorfer’s sofa,
I feel like a forgotten, tarnished penny.
Nathaniel rumbles about like an automobile with a faulty muffler.
To him, I am nothing more than the Brooklyn Bridge,
something long and ancient to drive over.
Hannah, sporting her entire forty-three piece barrette collection in her hair,
begs me to brush her tangled tresses.
After unfastening the thirty-seventh barrette,
retrieving the pet iguana from the lasagna pan,
and catching Mrs. Heneldorfer’s antique Japanese ceramic lamp
before it is destroyed by Nathaniel’s wayward yo-yo,
I contemplate the solitude of mowing lawns.
1. Which of the following does the poet do in this poem?