The baby
Poor in possession,rich in potentials, a pretend adult,tailor cut to have the upside down world
of both to be and to have a child,
honored with the
mother mission
of carrying life forward as a replacee
of those who precede me-
still born,kids, youths, adults and seniors
who after the ups and downs
of the whole damn business of living
are called
to pack nothing
save leave taking
and wave back home on board their painted wagon
that rolls off jolting the long
wet sunset
jolting many and me to cry.
Poetry by yoonoos peerbocus
Written on 2026-04-13 at 02:31
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