Within the trash tree line
I lay in wait for the Plymouth
to arrive in need aplenty or in a fit of mother

If:

a tabby she stroked

a whirligig spun

the screen slung to hanging fern

to porch couch

at her heels before stepping inside

then:

the slow roll of stockings downturned

my wrinkled brow smooth kneaded

noxzema whorled cheeks

mine hands wrung and laundered

a hollerin

A pluck of white clover: mama    A pluck: no mama

Keep watch for the ways of the mother
are unknown / but she was near
and I’d soon be unalone
and bones would be made

O / to be not
As the unmade but the unworn: a tadpole agullyfloat