Ballad of the Layette
Sing a song of Baby’s illiteracy.
Words hit consciousness
and vanquish formulae.
*
Sing a song of Baby’s European layette.
Nanny collapsed,
awed, in a heap on the floor.
*
Sing a song of deadbeat dads,
impoverished barnyard animals,
logic only I can follow.
*
Sing a song of Baby’s future—
talent scouts and holding pens,
Rachmaninoff and road rage.
*
Baby lacks the proper
aural sifting mechanism.
His mind lays out for me alone its platter of goodies.
