Contributor: John Grey

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Maybe if my mother and father
had taken a deep breath
or a cold shower
or seen an accountant
who could have spelled out
the dire liabilities,
the shaky assets
in having a child.
If they could have been rational.
Not been passionate
but laughed instead.
Maybe if he'd worked late
or she endured the headache to end all headaches.
They could have even seen a fortune teller,
one who pulled no punches.
Or if only prospective life
came with weights and measures,
or so many bureaucratic forms
that only the most determined
could ever finish filling them out.
It was all too haphazard,
too many parts nonsense
to too few of sanity.
They could have planted a garden.
They'd be eating fresh tomatoes now.
They could have put in a pool.
Imagine cooling down
on the hottest of Summer days.
Listen to them.
Look at them.
She's complaining.
He's drinking.
They are all the reasons not to
but they did.


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John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Mudfish and Spindrift with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Sanskrit and Louisiana Literature.