Thom Ingram reflects on the pressure some of us face to have children.
Sunday night in my thirties
Mother calls begging for grandchildren,
bootie socks, bibs, the opportunity to shop
at Talbot’s Kids, pick out some hideous, god
awful thing she’d have dressed us in, train
“Aww look,” she’d say, “how cute.” Wonders why
I balk on the phone, talk about PhDs,
theses, long lost friends, dying. “Please,”
she prods, “Please, get it together,
while I still have my faculties.”
Kisses placed on my wife’s
lips wilt from pressure and stress,
stories of cute little Maggie, sweet
darling Molly, up and walking now, talking,
headed to preschool, growing so quickly.
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Photo by Keene Public Library /Flickr