As a boy I wanted to be good, loved
cotton candy and mother more than anyone,
wanted to please and now may I say

I have squandered my sugar. I lick
and lick the bare cone
but I’m a bad boy, mother, I’ve fucked
it up good though you probably know that already

what with all your new companions
who drink tea and wear thin
their mourning kimonos.

My only pain being your lipstick kissed
into the white linen napkin I saved
and thereby understand by multiplying

your lips and I’m a bad, I’m a bad
and I miss the snow on, the rain on,
the green grass on the great lawn I recently had
paved over

so as to avoid being reminded of picnics or the smell of burning
leaves or your fingers tying on my hat
so I wouldn’t catch cold while I made angels.