Diatribe for Dylan

Diatribe for Dylan
or
Be Born Already!

by Darcy and Lindsey

Your mother tells me
Your skull presses against her spine,
But she is ultimately resigned
To carry you until
We all learn
If you're stuck with Daddy's nose.

While I wonder if your voice will
Evoke gulls wheeling above hot beach sands,
Your mother drinks enough water
To sow a new sea.

While I wonder if you’ll echo the far off cry of
A lonely foghorn,
The weight of you, she says,
Expands the pallet of her pelvis
As though an over-ripe pomegranate
Has grown between her thighs.

I walk with her daily,
Both of us hoping
For an early end to her strain.

With parents who the twain
Are equally stubborn,
It's no wonder that you stay in the womb,
Or that you're already such a pain!

With each day
Closer to your birth,
In each and every way,
Your antics increase our growing mirth.

But no matter the trouble
Or toil to Dear Mother,
Complaints in the ears of
Doting Dad,
Or the grudging patience of your
Loving Auntie,
We await the joy of three o'clock feedings,
Spit-up on our shoulders,
And fetid diapers with baited breath.

Auntie prepares a lullaby
For a hopelessly spoiled nephew.
But before you can be indulged
And favored so,
Dear Dylan,
First you have to get here!