a critic

my 8 year old daughter says
over a malt and a hamburger at McDonald’s,
“o, he’s getting better
he can slide into the car by himself
and fold the wheelchair and get over
into the driver’s seat and drive the car,
and I think he’s got a new girlfriend…
well, I mean, he’s getting better
but his poetry isn’t, it isn’t getting any
better at all…”

“you sure?” I ask.

“yes, I’m sure; I like his girlfriend, though…”