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crashing into your skull and vibrating
inside your brain. Imagine trying to hold
him against breasts hard as boulders
from all the milk left to ferment inside
and finally—blessedly—dry up completely,
leaving your boobs a whole cup size
smaller than before you got pregnant.
Imagine, when the idea of food
makes you want to retch, trying
to deal with mostly-digested
baby formula, big green glops,
smeared on a butt (even if it is a pretty
cute baby butt), all yours to clean.
Imagine trying to play This Little Piggy
when what you really want is to hook up
with a guy for a great night of smoking
and “touch me right there, please.”
Yeah, yeah, I know that—and exactly
that—is what got me into this predicament
to begin with. So no lectures. But hey,
if there’s a cute, available guy out there,
please, someone, please point him
in my direction.
The Garage Calls
My car is purring like a kitten
and wants to come home.
“So what’s the total?”
Fifteen hundred eighty
big ones. Will that be
cash, check, or charge?
