She’s pregnant now.
Like a worried pinball
Within this aging brain
The ethics play out.

Despite my impotence
To influence the blessing
I sit and cut bait
Like the busy honey bee
That purred in someone’s ear.

They say a cat litter can
Have three or four daddies
Represented with pride,
Each Mama a virgin goddess.
They say it’s not a miracle.

I look in your cold cash eyes,
Mama. Inscrutable. Nothing that
Happens now will be a miracle,
More likely predictable
I told you so’s.