This Little Piggy went to market

They took a short cut through the flower market on the way to kindergarten. So early in the morning, but the men were already clearing up, boxes of blooms all sold out. Fallen petals though, sometimes a whole rose to pick up. Mama called Claudia on, told her not to kick the flower pulp with her good shoes.
This Little Piggy stayed at home.
Claudia wished she could have stayed at home. Kindergarten was strange smells: long-cooked vegetables, the toddlers’ flooded toilet, wax crayons and too ripe bananas. Routines to remember, squiggles that people told her made up her name. And no Mama all day long. By dinner time she was ready to leave but
This Little Piggy had roast beef,
gravy, mashed-not-roasted potatoes. These were the parts Claudia liked. Not the orange discs of carrot. Not the watery cabbage. Especially not the roasted parsnips pretending to be roast potatoes that they tried to make her eat all up.
This Little Piggy had none.
At kindergarten she learned that if she didn’t eat her main she got no pudding, even if it was her favourite. She sat quietly while the others scoffed chocolate ice cream with their mouths open and didn’t talk to her. She drank her water and tried not to cry.
And this Little Piggy cried wee, wee, wee
but no one at kindergarten seemed to hear until it was too late. Warm and slippery down her legs, staining her new white socks, even puddling inside her good shoes. Squelching as she walked
all the way home.
Mama wasn’t angry. Instead she said, never mind, and, we’ll get you clean. And yes you can have pudding. And yes I will say the rhyme and play the game and tickle you until you laugh and laugh but never until you scream.