Fostering

You’ve got attachment issues, kid,
and we can keep you clothed and fed,
hoping you’ll initiate eye contact.

That’s every pair of shoes kicked off;
I’m jumping from The First Aid Box
into the Parallel Play Area.

On the trampoline your hair stands up
like Harpo Marx in the kitchen clock;
I worry you’re not being caught in time.

Let’s see how high these bricks will stack
then knock them down and start afresh
with emotional ambivalence.

We’re captured in a double bind,
my missus pushes you on the swing
uncertain if you’re coming back.

She sing-song soothes and modulates;
I’m a stickler for straight lines and shapes,
there’s always been a method in my sadness.

We’ve stuck you in to family snaps
to attract a special Mom and Dad;
it’s a mercenary transfer market.

The house we built was made of straw,
you’ll trip-trap on my bridge no more
but tread the Hansel and Gretel path.

What can I say with my throat choked up?
Chances are we won’t stay in touch -
I’ll just be a name in your memory book.

Raymond Miller


If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Raymond Miller would be pleased to hear them