The ripe smell of new birth and old mother coalescing
Her too thin hips and jaundiced skin, Dali beautiful
Screaming for me to write her a poem in scarlet strokes
Using the freshly pooling placenta at the foot of grandmas velvet chair
As inspiration.........its Mother's Day
Plucking adjectives with confused forceps, blinking away tears
Too many modifiers, slapping me for my fool wordiness
Cherub face swollen, sketching too big letters with umbilical stubs
Watching the cigarette butt smolder in the once nourishing mass
Writing of fires set brazenly by children with unhealthy respect
"You are less of a poet than you are a man"
"Now fetch my wine and a breast pump"
No breast feeding
"And hope that your life is short dear boy"
"Be thankful you are not your father's son"