a tiredness like a concrete boulder

grinding the optic nerve. the ayes have it.

the green eyes of potatoes glowing in the dark.
outside the window: leaves move

like fingers of the dead. waving, drowning,

possums rumble in the undergrowth. 
a wasp is trapped in our house. it catches

itself in floorboards glazed with yoghurt

the twins flung from their spoons and knows
we’re all under house arrest. the charge: failure

to get a unicorn before brushing spider-man’s teeth

and now he’ll never play with me again. 
remember: how spider-man lifted his t-shirt

and held his baby brother’s lips to his nipple.

try to forget: how we laughed.
strange: the backs of my children’s heads;

the pink rosebud of a wiped anus; its automatic

peristalsis, like an alien mouth wanting suck. 
breastfeeding makes my bones feel hollow

and I haven’t pissed in days. they say birds

are all that’s left of dinosaurs, but I know
dragons are dinosaurs who fed their young

until they lifted off this glaring earth

and flew straight for the slumber of myth