Olives: Poems

The Mother’s Loathing of Balloons

64 The Mother’s Loathing of Balloons I hate you, How the children plead At first sight— I want, I need, I hate how nearly Always I At first say no, And then comply. (Soon, soon They will grow bored Clutching your Umbilical cord)— Over the moon, Lighter-than-air, Should you come home, They’d cease to care— Who tugs you through The front door On a leash, won’t want you Anymore And will forget you On the ceiling— Admittedly, A giddy feeling— 65 Later to find you Puckered, small, Crouching low Against the wall. O thin-of-skin And fit to burst, You break for her Who wants you worst. Your forebear was The sack of the winds, The boon that gives And then rescinds, Containing nothing But the force That blows everyone Off course. Once possessed, Your one chore done, You float like happiness To the sun, Untethered afternoon, Unkind, Marooning all You’ve left behind: Their tinfoil tears, Their plastic cries, Their wheedling 66 And moot good-byes, You shrug them off— You do not heed— O loose bloom With no root No seed. ...