Glass Poetry Press

Volume Two Issue One

Luigi Monteferrante


She sat at the edge of the bath Staring down at the child Didn't laugh or smile — and an incisor Caught on her lip And hung exposed Get a good rub And the girl rubbed her little arm With a soapy sponge Now you scrub proper And she scrubbed her legs proper And don't forget your ears And she poked her ears Twisted her fingers As if she were winding herself up Like a clock And on a whim Blew her nose in the water You twit And got a smack Out now And come to dinner As you are The girl went dripping To the table The cutlery silver Sharp