listening For
the wrong baby. I don’t love this baby.
She is
a perfectly acceptable child.
She will
hate me. She will shout Her hot midnight rage
The perfume
of her breath will fail to enchant me.
To her
I will represent absolute abandonment.
As she
rises sobbing from the monstrous land Stretching for milk-familiar comforting
She will find
me and between us two It will not come. It will not come.