Postpartum

by John B. Oldenborg

The new baby was reared
in a different substrate,
is bigger, horned
and shy. All my references
to ancient warfare, lost
on him, Herculean
as he may be. We killed
hours of our Sundays
sanding down his horn.
A smoother forehead for school
horned again by hump-day, hidden
till Friday by tuque.
Soon he spoke unlike us,
wore temporary tattoos, stitched
trip wires across doorframes,
lard on all the doorhandles. We were
stuck in the rain for hours
struggling to get a grip.

John B. Oldenborg (he/him) currently attends the University of Nevada Las Vegas where he is earning an M.F.A in poetry. He is editor in chief at Young Doogan Mag. His favorite pizza toppings are pepperoni and black olives. He is scared of the screaming guy from the band Death Grips. twitter dot com @LMFAOldenborg @YoungDooganMag.