See the twin integers of shared genetics, tulips
hemorrhaging new sounds—
You must come see the equinox in their reserve,
their cries are retention ponds.
Be enamored in a room
stocked with plush mobiles, drywall painted
neutral, infants monitoring examine the bluff
of genuineness in your face. I must replace myself
to be considered a whole, to be continued
as a shelf of unread books. I refuse to be
a veneer panel playing oak. Stop asking
when will you get _____ and have _____?
Low and behold, I am a prime number playing possum.
Holster the theater of tender screech—
a tiny obligation spitting up, stitched to my arm-cradle
while the parents discuss fine dining. I wrote this poem
as a shudder. I rode this poem right
into a slaughterhouse squealing first a spouse, then a space.