After they took you. This poem is for you, my mysterious one, cradled warm in my womb for three solid months. Sleep sweetly, snow angel, with the prettiest, the coldest name. Brother Whenever I see a beer commercial, I think of you. You're one of thodse football throwing kinda guys who thrives in the wind, sun and laughter of male friends.
Beautiful women are also in the picture.
At your age I had two children and feet that had long since stopped dancing with men like you. I wonder how you see me. Safe in my life with a husband, a circle of friends who would bore you. I bore you, too. You say I worry too much about money and the habitual order of things.