A single child I handle easily–
two-handedly–I never drop a beat–
bathe ’em and feed ’em with steady breathing–
but toss another job at me–I flinch–
cascading boulders showering me
leaves little time to think.
Instinct directs my strategy.

Cross the baby out of hand
snatch a carton of milk
catch the kid before he balls
ready for the columns to fall
toss him to Doc to get his shots
then pacify him with lollipops
balancing him on one hand
the other scrubbing marker off the wall
feed ’em and bathe ’em and sometimes myself.
Though my grip will often slip
trying to fit him inside a box
I haven’t let him fall once. Not yet.


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