mother of chaos

slaps the roof of a car

“hey, that’s my car”

the driver unbuckles and leans his head out

she slaps the roof of his head

then walks into a downtown office

 

sometimes the wild missus

snaps her elastic suspenders

just to make a point

like during negotiations about

the birth of her next child

 

“maybe i won’t have this one”

she sips her cup of cold coffee

it dribbles down onto her wrinkly neck

she’s seventy seven years old 

and eight years pregnant

 

her fully grown child lets out a kick

desperate to escape the womb

the council of good parentage

pleads with her to give birth

“on my own terms” she snaps

 

when she returns that afternoon

to her luxury villa, whose infinity pool 

juts out over an elementary school,

the house financed by her

army of children, she smiles to herself

“this is certainly the life”

 

suddenly she clutches her stomach

the coffee starts to take effect

she leans forward in her pool chair

holds her breath till purple

trying to crawl out of her seat

one last heave

then her body explodes

covering the pool area in red kool aid

 

the pool boy wipes his eyes

as a child emerges triumphantly

from the carcass of his mother

wearing school clothes, 

his homework finished

he walks down the hill to his class

brimming with confidence