At the Child Support Office

They stand behind thick glass
not warming to goofy quips.
The charm I manufacture
to diffuse social bomblets
is not welcome this morning.

They are older black women
leaning on linebacker arms.
Peering out on benches where
thin young men slump with pants
purposely hanging down.

I imagine they’ve heard it all.
Hearts that have slow cooled
into smooth round stones
that won’t warm for boy-men
who fail to stay at home.

These clean nails and pressed shirt
stir nothing. Their faces gloss
like antique German clocks
over pages I present before
chiming someone got this wrong.



Poet’s Notes:

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