The creaky, half-snapped sidewalk chalk

talks out the problems of my lonesome childhood.

My thickly-marked, Fruit-Loop colorings and

blurred characters console me

about my constant house-swapping because

my real parents cannot.

I want my mommy and dad to show up one day

and take me away to my baby crib--

legs dangling out the end, four foot six,

feeding on lukewarm breast milk and rich chocolate bars,

my favorite thing then, I imagine,

and my favorite thing now.

But I know they didn't want me then--

so how could they stand me now?