Misha Collins - Baby Pants 03.08.09
Baby Pants <br />This morning I drive across town for a friend <br />To Justin’s house on a Saturday at 9. <br />His wife yells from under wet hair <br />Belt unbuckled <br />“Justin!” <br />He’s down in the office <br />And I sit—collapse on the new couch <br />Custom made, brown and squarer than a couch should be. <br />Justin’s baby produces baby pants for my inspection. <br />I’m impressed, he can find his own pants now. <br />Can’t put them on, but knows <br />They go <br />On his baby legs. <br />And there I am <br />With my friend’s family <br />On a weekend morning. <br />The mother holds an envelope <br />In her teeth <br />Hoists and struggles <br />To pant her boy. <br />I’m slouching and hot in my vest <br />My blue, down vest. <br />Thinking today was colder than it is. <br />Forgetting that fall in California <br />Is like summer back home. <br />Plastic diapers pack the thighs of tiny corduroys <br />The smell of Cheerios bloated and floating in milk <br />What have I missed?