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Enter Daughter

ISSUE:  Spring 1985

Plumped with 10 P. M. feeding
   she’s poked in by her
He’s at his reading,
   his desk the one ember
      left burning in his domestic shade.
On the closet door one
   vestigial hardrock poster
      vibrates still;
his cigarette smokes on;
   his drink waits
      on its makeshift coaster.
He sets her on his palm.
   She fills the adroit dish
      woven of stabled muscles,
(Was it for this he strangled hobo wishes?)
   supports the rotating neck
      and graceless diaper;
eyes the mysterious bluff
   of her pristine stare,
      tickles, cooly, the shapeless cheek,
the gaping lip, and bare feet
   (angled red nymphal imperatives).
      Her milky eyes narrow with mirth.
A miniature laugh.
   springs from the original book of laughs;
      she shakes; her eyes water;
red digits rise and fall with laughter.
   Then, stiffening her pink girth,
      she gives him a straight look.


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