Baby Mama

The wasted spirit of the little mother/who sits and wonders/at the babe/feeble in her arms/twin minds/lifetime soul children/she wonder as he does/when her next meal will come/her nascent breasts/unnatural overflow/grotesque glow/of fear shines through her bossom/and she drinks him in/even as he feeds through her skin/seeing the face of the donor to life/tho not of her life/nor of the life/of the offspring/he sprung from heaven’s fields/and she is petrified by the image of the force she holds in her hands/love hate desire- raging ire/look...he is done/and strangely/his suckling has renewed those eddying embers/of forgotten feeling/and the billows from the bowels of her woman spring/fan her into awake ness/she looks down at the face of betrayal/and she cannot help herself/yet again she falls in love/for the thousandth and one time/that day/with the way he is the way he is/with lust child of her lost youth/maybe not so lost…not so wasted after all.