KATHLEEN HELLEN
Once They Killed a Tiger on a Sippy Cup
The source code is
reptilian,
unimpeded by taboos
like “use a fork, a spoon.”
They chew on oozing
pop-tarts, watch cartoons.
The screen
a serengeti, where a zebra
ties on shoes, an elephant
in tutu
performs attitudes.
A giraffe
in big, thick glasses
impersonates
the masters.
The toddlers
drool, advancing
toward the plasma,
their cuspids
and incisors erupting.
Eighteen
Each leg of them
was frayed
at bottom
a denim column
she had patched
with eighteen hearts—
the places at the knees
where cigarettes
had shamed them
where sidewalks gnawed
at seat-of-pants
my own threadbare
intentions
eighteen hearts—
presented on denim
for my birthday
when we fought
about some boy
(if I remember)
she disapproved of
hearts—
cut from rags
stitched into a mantle
to protect me
til goodness spooled
until I mended