The baby’s bubbling away nicely
On his daily cycle of food and refuse,
Sleep and denial, in-between switches
Of style from all in one jim jams to two piece
Suits, and naked rolls on changing mats when
Nappy town is visited with wishes that it wasn’t.
He’s gaining the weight other people
Are desperate to lose, and he’s not all that
Choosy how; either milk maid’s juice or the
Chalky produce of conglomerates boxed for the
Bulging shelves of super markets, where it’s stacked
Next to the other crap you’re supposed to buy ten of.
Already a member of the purchase
Race before he was born, although that was
More my fault as I tried to ensure that he would
Be the best dressed baby on the ward; with the dandiest
Pram, the prettiest crib and the fairest parents, once they’d
Treated themselves to brand new threads for his nursery visits.
But he sleeps with the peace of the
Feted, celebrating his place regardless of
Payments made; in spite of them indeed. Breezing
Through these moments of pre-birth, until his due date is
Upon us and passed, and he’s already gassed up enough to read the
Change of daily life no matter how his daft father’s parchment looks.
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