Too Much to Lose: Poetry by Aaron White

“I didn’t choose to be a dad” and “Myopic”

/


I didn’t choose to be a dad

 

I plead

to those snared by the rain

when the sky’s foaming at its mouth,

remember a woman from Monee,

twenty-something,

a student who

smothered her baby

and stuck him

in a backpack

instead of her books.

 

 

Myopic

 

Cramped couch. I count the minutes to

sunrise.

It’s cold on Milwaukee Ave.

and your back is warm against my chest.

I loyally thumb your Claddagh ring.

I dream up allusions that fail

the thickness of your lips.

 

One more minute

to flock to your tired eyes

like frogs after heavy rain.

Thirty seconds

to live in the scent of your hair.

 

Everything gets basic near my brainstem,

and I might be applying

short sight

to a long term problem,

and I might have nothing

to gain from playing it cool,

 

but there’s too much to lose if I don’t.


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