THE MOMMY AT THE ZOO

I used to sleep better I used to

be smarter remember for example words

and remember when I learned them

there was a word for example

for the way a snake loves

a tight place a crevice a chink in rocks

now the word won’t answer

though my daughter knocks

the python sleeps tight in his glass hut

the word has slipped

my mind between a rock

and a hard place

Mr. Snake you

you are a . . .

a something-o-phile

O you sneaky . . .

something-o-phile . . .

I rummage

but the word

is nowhere no

where in my diaper bag

among the handiwipes and gummy bears

sippie cups of Juicy Juice

crayons slinky and cow-that-goes-moo

before I was a mommy

say four or five years or

decades ago I could think in complete

sentences remember all

my favorite words like the one

about loving the tight fit which I did

in the French Quarter

where the hot rain rained down

in the alley beside the bar

where I was bolted against the iron gate

by Tommy’s hard cock

hot rain falling on my upswung face

each vertebra fenced

in the tic-tac-toe grid

each vertebra Xed

on a treasure map

bezel set what a night

for a girl forged of carbon

all bone and saxophone

notes bouncing to her

through the hot drops of rain

who was she

that fresh-squeezed girl

merely temporarily out of her mind

if it’s true as they say

that I am now

that same she

the word I seek

would come slithering

find a chink and wriggle in

like my child up ahead

darting through scissors

of grown-up legs

her silhouette

in red exit light

slow down I’m coming wait

wait up