Glass (Crank 2)

ball’s in my court. What

do I do? Serve? Volley?

Concede? I want to be a

good mom. I don’t want

to be a mom at all. But

what choice do I have?

Hunter coos and drools

sweet-smelling baby spit,

and I stroke his soft,

soft cheeks. “Mommy loves

you, Hunter.” I really do,

and he loves me, too,

with a purity that makes

my eyes sting. What have

I done? And more: What

will I continue to do?

Eventually

Watching dust motes play

in the afternoon light,

Hunter drifts off. I know

Mom et al will be home soon,

which gives me a small window

of opportunity to hook up with

the monster one last time.

I step out onto the patio, where,

shielded from the westerly

breeze, I can easily take a toke

and let the evidence escape

into the lengthening shadows.

Denying any earlier sense