Just to b***h

40, like my round belly

snuck onto me, pouncing

pushing claws into my shoulder blades

as if yesterday’s news stories

weren’t gripping enough

time corkscrewed her voice

into my ears, stabbed memory

into my veins, snapped empathy

from my hands, and  torn glory

from a road map I used to carry--

yet these two babies, two smiling

terrors of twisted hair, dirty faces

dreaming of sprinkler sprints,

peanut butter & jelly, and chocolate;

babies will make their news stories

80 is only my life away, with fortune

chocolate is in all our future

.