Parental Neglect of Alternative Universes
(What are you doing today?)
Somewhere someday someway I could
have a guy and a beautiful child
who loves to wear flowers behind the tips of her ears,
Cries at thunder, and plays dress-up and dolls...
I could lead the world, touch the sky.
I could have tasted Cyanide,
Strychnine, aspirin, mud, or chewed-up tinfoil
on my way toward Rome or Tuscany or any
of a thousand-thousand places,
Hurled myself from a bridge
in hopes of avoiding
the thundering army that tramples flowers,
grass, and human alike under cleated boots.
(Run errands? Sure, I guess. Got nothing better to do.)
I might be sitting and wondering if writer's block
could be induced by a permanent marker, or perhaps
a shortage of leafy green vegetables...
Or lying awake in bed, hoping by chance that
some perfect song lyric would trip
its way through my
(Wanna have lunch out at Jitters? I love their mochas...)
You might sometimes take your place
in the role of an enemy,
on occasion, a friend disguised as such,
Sometimes as an accomplice,
a confidant, a harpy,
or a slightly annoying toll-booth attendant.
(Where are we going, really?)
Or, most realistically, not there at all.
There is nowhere inside your world my worlds;
your mind has no total of
the men I've kissed
the doorbells I've rung
the times I've willingly lay down on the street...
You couldn't know, and I'd never tell you
just how much slips past your busiest of eyes...
I could be a part of the Trench Coat Mafia,
could have killed a killer, torn his throat right out,
could love a daemon,
could hate humanity and celery without peanut butter,
could have a metabolism that requires more than I already eat...
(For all you know, mom, )
There are too many things you could never know.
I have other lives that don't include you.