Advil caps off birthing pains
with childproof, adultproof,
fool-proof lids;
cut off from the fix
of midwife wonders,
your brand of bulletproof
will have to do.

Nothing passes up your eyes.

Lips pucker to points,
where someone sucks
your milky smiles;
(I swear)
this cure-all keeps the dogs
at bay--

(be) still, something softpawed
this way comes.
Into cat's cradles, baby's-breath
stealing from rose bouquets
left dry,
we pick small stars
against nursery doors
(and out again).

This is the dogstar.

Books swear up and down that
blue is the boy-shade,
chasing pink-cheeked girls,
like skirts someday worn.
In cribdeath you paint the lintels
advil-red, singing 'sunset' but meaning
sheep's blood instead.
Meaning well.

Always meaning well.

Life-proof you love everything,
feeding world-babies
at your boyish breast.

AKL 2006