In a Sling on Mama’s Neck
At two years old,
I sat in a sling
on the back of Mama’s neck,
cheeks stuffed with green apple Skittles.
Mama was working the subway car,
peddling Kit-Kats and lollipops.
But the faces in the car were too skinny,
the hands below the faces too heavy,
the fingers on the hands too shiny;
Mama was a good Mama,
but my belly
blurred her vision.