I slid down
from a divine beam.
Manifested at last.
There was a slippery commotion
in the kitchen
while Mom lay on the cold, linoleum, floor
and I arrived unexpected.
Dad said,
“It’s a boy!” but then
saw it was only the
umbilical cord.
He tied it off with shoes strings
while Mom looked between bloodied thighs
and the toast was left unbuttered.
There were ambulances on the way.
Two.
With and without incubator.
What was said while they waited to hear sirens that August day in Boston?
So, how ‘bout those Red Socks in the last inning…
Go and boil water.
We only have one pan.
It’s got last night’s spaghetti.
Should I throw it out?
No. Find a container to put it in and put it in the fridge.
Which container should I use?
Any.
With the opening of each cabinet
exasperation formed like beads of sweat,
I can’t find Any.
Never-mind.
Go get clean rags.
A few minutes later he returned rag-less.
I couldn’t find any. Can I use towels?
Not the new ones.
I’m saving those for guests.
I was family.