i hold this child
in my arms
as her mother
is dragged
out of the
halfway house
in handcuffs
for smoking meth.
not crying
not upset
she's only two
has no idea
what's going on.
i find a bottle
in her
mother's room
gummed up
with rotten
formula.
i wash
it out
mix some
up.
she puts
her head
on my shoulder.
the other
female inmates
tell me
i'm a natural.
i get
the rubber-band ball
out of the cabinet.
she laughs
clapping her hands
when i bounce it
off my head.
the little
golden bracelet
on her wrist
says princess.
a dhs worker
comes
and takes her
away.
a bucket of slapdash
and ketchup harmony
a handful of catfish
32 pats of butter
inconsequential drivel
epic dross
she drones on
like a snowblower
like a lawnmower
indefatigable
like a foghorn
tacit
this understanding
of ours
i drop by
few times a month
she talks at me
like a sandblaster
for an hour
or so
then lets me
take her upstairs
for a little
push-pin
skyscrapers
for now
i sit at her kitchen table
stacking packets of splenda
like skyscrapers while
eyeing the clock.
Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works with criminals. He has a Web page at http://www.nyqpoets.net/poet/justinhyde. He can be contacted here: jjjjhyde@yahoo.com.