The creaky, half-snapped sidewalk chalk
talks out the problems of my lonesome childhood.
My thickly-marked, Fruit-Loop colorings and
blurred characters console me
about my constant house-swapping because
my real parents cannot.
I want my mommy and dad to show up one day
and take me away to my baby crib--
legs dangling out the end, four foot six,
feeding on lukewarm breast milk and rich chocolate bars,
my favorite thing then, I imagine,
and my favorite thing now.
But I know they didn't want me then--
so how could they stand me now?