Unwed, Waiting for the Bus

Oh little one

With yours in tow
Out in the morning mist.
He has the croup
And moans and coughs
You’ve cuddled and you’ve kissed.
The baby-sit
The factory waits
The hectic push and pull.
That Father gone
The spineless oaf!
He’ll miss the child, the fool.
Or maybe not
The tryst was quick
And starting from the glands.
But you’ve the prize
The quick blue eyes
Those tiny feet and hands.
And you have stepped
Up to the plate
Much sooner than you should.
But rest assured
Dear Momma-child
It’s love’s best and it’s good.
Isaiah 40: 11
Doug Blair, Waterloo, ON

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