breast

they are looking
at my breast
again

first it was
my mother’s
worry of
hand-me-down flat-chested
jest & jeers—her bra
full of tissue
ready to wipe
away my tears
& then her fears
as I developed
the attraction of
the boyz
wide eyed grasping
with gasp & sweaty
minds fumbling
with these new keys
& backseat license
everyone hard & hungry
what was I to think?
these
in the way
things
growing—bulging
out of my
tomboy torn body
too soon
at the mercy of
men
greedy-weedy
men
but the babies
the babies came
hungry & eager
to pull the purpose
from these breast
and I was
grateful for the liberation
gleeful for the validation
I had squirt guns!
always at the ready-aim
& cream!
enough to calm
butterball bellies
rocked in my arms
warm growing things

they are looking
at my breast
again
this time
gram by mamm-o-gram

psgates