Never very good
at endings I have written
a poem a day
for twenty five months
now I am not sure if I
deserve a break when
a human arrives
imminently it could be
any moment now
just as I describe
writing as something to do
so too is changing
diapers or putting
car seats in strollers to walk
a path part way through
a life I never
expected to include this
heavy interlude
I would trade poems
for a new life—wouldn’t you?