Which is to say when I say I don't
have enough, touching more does not help.
I have my poems to get to bed.
They're crying for Band-Aids.
One just had a seizure in the bathtub
and nearly drowned and if I hadn't gone
to look in the mirror for no reason,
it would have been floating face down,
a yellow boat sailing by its head.
I don't want to take care of them,
but they keep coming off the bus.
They keep losing their blankets,
burrowing between my legs to keep warm,
chanting make cookies, dirty hands,
give us the beans and glue.
More honey! Hey! You!
More! Honey! After I do,
they tell me we're sad Babysitter's gone
because all it was was PLAYING
1. poem doesn't wanna go to school
2. poem doesn't like you
Now there's nothing for nobody.
Just put us in the trash, put us in the trash!
You're too far away.
You don't even know how far you are.
See that trash can.
It's not even on Earth.
It is not.
Author Discusses Poems