December '08


From My Kitchen Window
There goes my heart, walking down the street.
Little crew haircut, prickly and sweet.
Brown shoulders bare and shiny in the sun.
Low hip-holster, swinging a gun.

Dark eyes squinted - looking all around,
On his little lips a half-tuneful sound....
Isn't it funny....how mommies come apart?
Here am I, and there goes my heart.