J.D. Isip

Struggles with the huge child swinging
in the J of her arm – she could have put him down
with her bulging bags of formula and ingredients
for tonight’s dinner –

“It’s my husband’s favorite” she bragged
to friends who, tasting it, could not see why –
but she continues with the child, begging
“Give Mommy a break!”

He shrieks, heads turn, sweat on her forehead
“What the hell are you looking at?” She wonders
if anyone has ever raised a baby before –
he pulls and tugs, the bags get loose

Someone offers a hand, “I’ll get it! I’m a mother!”
The bags are snatched up with the baby, dinner
will be ready by six o’clock exactly –
her friends can’t make it, “Kids, you know?”

The baby tears through the bag of groceries
like his father exploring the new girl on the fourth floor –
“I’ll be a little late. How’s the baby?”

“Fine, fine. Everything’s fine.”