“I missed the poem because of a phone call.
Was it that bad?????”
Yes...whether..a boombox...or....two wooden spoons...zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Snippets from an Alexander poem titled Neonatology.
Is
funky, is
leaky, is
a soggy, bloody crotch, is
sharp jets of breast milk shot straight across the room,
is gaudy, mustard-colored poop, is
postpartum tears that soak the babys lovely head.
Another passage:
Shockingly vital, mammoth giblet,
the second living thing to break free
of my body in fifteen minutes.
The midwife presents it on a platter.
We do not eat, have no Tupperware
to take it home and sanctify a tree.