a poem a day for a year #6

by Amy Turn Sharp


The baby doesn't want his toys

he only wants to sit by the warm air register and play

with my Nars "The Mulitple" make-up stick

I have tried to take it from him three times

he fights me like a drunk

so now I let him sit there and be still

silent

golden

as he marks up his perfect skin

with pink luminous

lady paint

he smiles

tiny chicklet teeth

spark laughter

he glows

like Maldives