flood my face
You look at me, ask What’s wrong?
You smack my pink face
Then you grimace at my face
because it is red, and ugly.
You call me nasty things
then you call the doctor to tell
her my ears are bleeding.
You kick me and offer me a hand.
Birth me and leave me on the ground
wriggling ’round, gaping mouth in
desperate need of a tit.
A spike dog-collared breast is provided
and people later ask,
What’s wrong with this baby?