Ask the woman about it. Ask the woman Where it is that they found something growing.
(This is not about impregnation. Go beyond the obvious). Unless you can’t because you’re impressed by anything
Everyone’s following. (Godmothers, help me). You see, there are floorboards in a woman.
There are things that grow inside of her Like the letter left there since the 70’s
The guitar riff that almost got her pregnant Hoods of cars, backseats and now we’re getting
Obvious again. Let’s put it this way. Don’t
Ask the rich kid, spoiled brat, what is this
And that, a boy who never did shit in his life Was polished every night along with the silver.
No wonder he hums. Just like a baby. Dammit, these boys know how to play the game.
Their coffee always has a name on it. Never Have they lifted plain styrofoam with beautiful black
Steam, black answers risen to their lips Like the worker, the one who built the chair
His little ass sits on day after day, spewing out Words like wedding rice. The woman gets dressed
After the doctor exits the examination room. The spoiled brat is miles away, eating something
In a cardboard box with a name on it. He thinks He’s clever. He’s got a new jacket that matches
The eyes of his mother. Everything that he said Today was a lie. Ask the woman about it.