LAMB IN A BAG

prize winner 

Born from a bag,
boiled in a bag,
suckled on the gagging
corner of a plastic bag.

I love the way dumb beasts
sleep with open mouths.
I could take care of you, I think,
when I see you, blind, lifting
your tongue for polymer milk.

There are many ways to be born and held.
I had skid marks on my head.
My youngest sister slid out breech.
Our butterfingers couldn’t pull the plastic,
so we punctured your mother with my car keys.
It was like any delivery on my doorstep.