Breeder Dream

Just when you thought it was safe, ba-dum-dum,
the dream unfolds upon you—
you, sacked out on the couch, many heady miles
from the one you love—
and you are living the bachelorette life
as best you know how.
The dream gurgles in your mind like a dying breed,
stunned and bleeding
on its way to its knees. And before you know it?

Twin infants present themselves
to your now fattening belly,
introduce themselves as two tumors
demanding your love and desire.

The rumor is: you’ll fall for those faces, you’ll wrap up
their legs in the quilt of ages,
first this one,
then that one,
love forked over for not much in return. That’s how it goes
down, without much of a fight,
(but what wins out is mother-wit, which tosses the halo right
into the dump).

You awake to find REM and your ovaries have dashed
out life’s obscene code
in illegible script, because now awake, you are actually
free,
free to roam the darkest, most uninhabitable waters,
without ballast,
without guilt’s anchor,
without twin regrets pulling the stern .