all mouth and potential. We do not speak
of disappointments—no one to strap it on yet
and cross the border, the demilitarized zone
of our foyer. The neighbors coo at it, rub
the tops of its dimpled hands with their thumbs
and say, “give me a smile.”
We think about schools and such, of course.
But at night when we lay our plans
it always kicks its feet from the bassinet
in the corner of the room, central to everything,
central to some final detonation.
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