Friday, February 11, 2011


you see in his face the baby
you held tight like nothing else to hold

you poured in love as from a garden hose
endless and clear

now a scraggly bunch of whiskers
interspersed with the blemishes
the many imperfections
the being human
that so distresses him

leaves you incapable

the spigot turns on,
dams up inside
there’s nothing you can do
there’s nothing you can do

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