No snap between your legs,
for months. But how? When did I last
gnaw sausages cased in terry cloth?
When did I last unsnap-snap-snap?
I’ve gone to the door and I’ve shouted.
I am missing some-ping. Hey, you,
in your big-girl pj’s, don’t you have
a little sister? You’re giant,
lying down, musing on beanstalks.
What is Mommy doing? I am reading
in a disco. No, it’s not a disco,
it’s my office with your finger on the switch.
Two years lived under a strobe light—
when I look up, you’re there,
then there and there. When I look up,
you’ve nailed the cha-cha, the fox-trot.
What is Mommy reading?
A book with pages torn out
by Kenny Mullins in grade four.
Kenny Mullins why do you do that I said
he said Because you’re fat.
Twenty years later in Starbucks
Kenny Mullins says Sorry about the book
it was a joke! He says Ha-ha-ha!
He says Don’t put me in a poem!
Now he’s fat, and also bald. Yes,
now I say Ha-ha-ha. I don’t like
myself like this. I am leaving
some-ping out. Like me. Do you? Tomorrow
you’ll ask for the keys. Answer’s no.
Buttering me up, you say, Let’s play,
Mommy, I be the snake, you be the dark.
Fast child of a fast mother,
it’s been years but I haven’t forgotten
being the dark. It comes right back. It’s like
pushing someone off a training bike.