It’s six
am
The morning is about to unravel the day
The next day, the other day
This day I won’t be the daily man
The milk man
Of a woman who never earned but bottled the breast
For the milk man, for the pancakes, forever
Until her breast was milkless
The manly woman
The gym woman
On the pudding, the milk was sour
Milk of a passing father
The woman of concrete was motherless
The unborn children
On the steps, at the door
am