Like Mother Like Son

Your newly discovered pout,
Tiny bottom lip
Protruding out.
Your deeply furrowed brow,
Scrunched up nose
Red face without words
Telling me where, when and how.
You know what you want
And that you want it NOW!
A whine,
A cry,
A small pointing finger,
The power of your toddler gestures.
It's survival,
A mere carnal revival,
The essence of
Your independence.
Yet now you have me contemplating
The chasm between
Our own age seating.
Perhaps it never leaves,
That urge to wear it all upon our sleeves.
And looking in the mirror I see
You're not so much different
From me.
It must be true what they say:
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.