Men with books and time to read them,
Men who live at home without jobs,
Hoards of them sleeping soundly in the day–
their anxiety high and their parental love
so warm it curdles around them and stinks. 

These men have no idea why I’m mad.
They want to date; Be my house husband,
they want life to go easy on them.
In the morning, they scrape their own car windows
and leave mine frozen. They won’t,
they can’t pour my coffee for time.
They rush home just to sit
in their mother’s presence. Pour her creamer
into their own cup and say “I beat it— traffic.”
“I won” maybe she applauds. 

The type of man to leave without goodbye.
Walk right out of your door,
Leave it unlocked while you shower
in the only womb for you that is still warm.
They leave you to yell their names begging
For toilet paper. A towel. Answers.
They don’t understand why you’re mad,
Even less why you’re afraid,
Why you carry a gun like a middle name
Pepper spray as close as a child
How childbearing is deadly. They disagree:

The women in their family happy to be
giving trees.