What am I supposed to say?
Your baby’s lovely when he’s
not? That he doesn’t look almost
simian with his scrunched-up
face and shock of electrified
orangutan fuzz on top? That his
hands are sweet as apricots,
his toes teasingly nibble-able?
No, I don’t want to baby-sit.
He’s so cute I could eat him up,
Phyllis in Accounting says.
I’m here to hand that lady a fork.
Animals do it—eat their young
when a baby comes out wrong.
Wild she-rabbits will reabsorb
whole litters in the womb when
there’s too little food, too much
stress. Flick of biological switch,
junior’s nothing but nutrients.
Goodnight, Moon.
Shut up, Earth.
No, I’m not jealous. I’m just
here to say Bring Your Child
to Work Day isn’t carte blanche
to change a diaper on my desk.
So take Phyllis’s card
and Baby Gap gift certificate and
get out of my sight. Don’t make
me see that little boy of yours
again until
one of us
grows up.