Baby, Your Daddy Called to Say He Gave Us Chlamydia
Sarah Carson
And I told him, “No, sweetheart.You gave us the world.”
Now the angels are outside, breaking
bottles Momma thought she’d recycle.
The wise men trip an alarm
at Walgreens, drunk on Godiva and rum.
All our lives we’ve been told come December
a baby could save us—
even the high school volleyball captain
believed it—
though her middleweight boyfriend saw two lines
and pushed her down the stairs.
Now unto us, this night, in the city of accidents,
a body becomes its own planet if you let it—
leave it to weed,
it grows what it wants.
Outside the city limits, the hungry are filled
with orange chicken from a heat lamp; the shepherds
tend their pocket holes, loose change,
and this, little soul, is the promise your GG
will sew into your sleeves:
May you never stand on Grandma’s driveway
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