When someone 5 years old assumes the role
of parent to herself, her selfishness
becomes the theme for every choice she’ll make.
If reading fiction grows to be her goal,
she’ll opt for English major – nothing less
will blaze the path through college she will take.
She’ll birth some kids and love them heart and soul,
for else she thinks she’d age to grouchiness
(the witchy crone who makes the urchins quake).
She’ll get a job outside her home control
(agoraphobia she’ll swap for stress),
and gather lessons there, and set her stake.
Averse to driving, she’ll allow that hole
in function to impel her busyness
to walk and ride and drive herself awake.
Called selfish by my loving enemy,
it’s true – I angled for what’s right for me.