Saturday, April 15, 2017


some babies you can't shut up.
they keep crying
despite the bottle,
the breast,
the soothing hand of mother.
even dry
once wet and full,
they keep at it, crying,
crying. they want what
they can't have,
they don't even know why,
but it's a pattern
for down the road,
in time, there's
one now,
behind me, grumbling,
in this long slow line.

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