celebrate what/////
push mommy push
the sedatives
the little white room spinning blur tops
and the cats outside searching
for garbage dinner deluxe
i get born
i get dead
i do no work, i get no baby
kicking at///my/// insides
we celebrate birth
yet when the reaper starts
paging us in the middle of our
sitcoms and golf games
we pretend we're too busy
and run for drive-thru windows
churches for the hungry
food for the spoiled
celebrate the moon, the mother
forget the little men
the little wars
and the little sins which
create compelling television.
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