Beau Boudreaux

Work Out

He sucks down his second bottle

lines up another breast milk,

 

our eyes fixate, his hazel once

blue and this evening we’re going

 

for the record, maybe more than ten ounces

gasping and panting

 

like a prizefighter between rounds

we bounce him on our knees, pat

 

his back, search for burps

piquant farts, stroll

 

around the room—

there is no crying, not a tear

 

sleep a friendly enemy

lurking beneath his mobile.

 

 

 

 

 

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ISSUE 90
Tiny Data

 

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contributors