childless

your long life,
unwed, is not futile
at least not
as much as you
once thought it
would be. and
your empty mantle
of childless photos,
with no swings,
or ponies, or
parties with colored
cakes and balloons
rarely bothers
you in your sleep.
you've chosen well,
and wisely you
tell yourself, with
a glass of wine,
alone on the porch,
leaning towards
tomorrow. and yet
you can't help but
stare and linger
for a brief second
or two, at a ballpark,
or stand near
a playground, or
walk through a zoo
thinking what if.
or watching the
mother with child
in hand, how it never
will be you.