My baby's born
a blank page

at first, no words graze
his pale bloated belly

fresh from a nap
he giggles mindlessly
as computer keys
tickle him rudely
their dark impressions clumped
just above his knotted navel

he will not mind
as I fold him neatly into thirds
slip him into
a number ten envelope
drop him in a mailbox
en route to an editor
whose judgment will not be clouded
by flesh and blood
or
pride and joy