Sipping mother’s sweat
Nine months worth of beaches have been reduced,
dissolving, filling, and cooling our modern whatever.
I put my gin back in the icebox, for everything
will be made without anomalies this eccentric summer.
I will show you how to use this toy in exchange for
one thought and the smell of white and tender worry from
your cream cheese thighs. Our baby is still alive and
I can help you with the illness. Just suck the soda
fountains in the stillness of your “motherly” care and
be sure to live the grown up story in the flavored field
of symbols, green fog nights, and Chinese Sunday schools.
Our memories of fresh leaking greens and lit candles
resting in boxes don’t fly up here. Surrounded by clouds,
the only thing I miss is your Labor Day legendary lemonade.
That’s something for the sugar, but says little for the sex.
You’ll find everything you need: Manila, watermelon,
a new television, the greens, findings, and an understanding
of your daughter; the details of her sad flight plan.