i become a bonfire          how far along

Everyone needs to know             Eyes apple

by the dozen          12 weeks i crack

a branch with my teeth      An old man wears

a smile like a clearance tag      i’m told

to call him Papa          as a blister pack

of mothers take turns jumping forward to enact

each symptom of pregnancy        My former boss

the one with the spray of chin hair like     tobacco spit

the one who threatened to spank me

for being late    says I hope you plan

on breastfeeding     erects

an evidence board      showing boys split clean

from the sun    American mouths gridled

on their faces                      Oooh say the mothers

before i can speak       grabbing their stomachs

and         swaying like loose teeth

Breastfed        your boss slaps the board      turns

and shoots one of the mothers       Not breastfed

he explains as her blood agrees across the floor

Papa wears a smile          like broken glass

Papa asks if they can feel      and despite it all you say

yes          it’s Papa after all

Everyone cheers everyone

steps over the dead woman to feel you

and now       everyone everyone

is so warm