in the
bathroom at
chipotle i give
birth to my first
child his skin as
dark as
black beans
quietly i
name him
carlos

he’s out of
wedlock only
thing
locked right
now is my
bike to the
rack outside the
library looking so
sad

i couldn’t do that
to my baby
carlos

he does not
cry silently
submerged in the
water his brow
wrinkled like the
mugs my
uncle used for
margaritas
shaped like
Buddha his round
belly
carved out for
liquor
just like my
uncle’s was

carlos is
**** but he’s
mine
****** and for a
while i
struggle with
dreams of a
life
together, him
rotting in my
arms, getting
eaten by
dogs

that’s no life at
all

finally
i push the
lever, later ill
call it a mercy
killing
as if such a
thing were
possible

returning to the
table its
stupid but i
miss him
he was my
child
he had my
eyes