coffee cup sidled newly by, orange pen
the pharmalady gave me when I went
in for Nystatin for my son who is scratchin
like his life maybe depended on it.
I put my arms around him and tell the itch
you can go now, he won't worry anymore,
be gone itch. But itchin just be itchin
for a while longer, until we file our gander
under the goosedown, until we flower
under the bride grown, until we hunger
beneath that black doom. Bridegroom.