(Swans - October 21, 2013)
She takes care of other peoples' children so
the other mother can have places to go:
she has to go shopping, she has to do chores,
she has to have tea with other idle bores;
now down a Central Park side-street you hear cheeps—
the nanny says, "That's where the baby birds sleep,"
pointing and shaking a garden-planted fir,
instructing; the mother must really trust her—
I wonder, while she's making this sacrifice
of her days and her mind, fostering the nice
(does the mother trust her simply by default
as she doesn't want to spend the time she ought?):
unless she was born for this and must atone
for poverty—who's taking care of her own?
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About the Author
David Francis has produced three albums of songs, one of poems, ALWAYS/FAR, a chapbook of lyrics and drawings, and the film Village Folksinger. His poems and stories have appeared in a number of US and UK magazines. His Web site is http://davidfrancismusic.com. He lives in New York City. (back)