You are the spilled
Murky milk from the Hood
Milk truck, pearling
At my muddy rain
Boots. You are the breath
Of the spoiled cat who mewls
And curls out its brown brick tongue
And curls its nails into the grass
And curls its nails into the dirt.
You are the spittle
Of the brittle baby
Soaking the big peach blouse
Of the twenty-four
Year young new widow
Girl whose head buzzes
At freshly-flowered graves
Or when she needs a mouth
To latch onto her leaking
Breasts: you, guggling
Slowly from the widow's
Sloppy, half-bared chest
To the orphaned baby's
Salty gums. You are
The slimy body-warm
Mucky bucket napping
Just under the swollen cow.
You are the bowl of cereal,
Too syrupy to spoon.
You are the cup of coffee,
Too thick for me to drink.