Tuesday Afternoon

On page 66 of the book of poetry, I ran across the poem, which I had read elsewhere, that made me buy the book of poetry in the first place. Although I had been enjoying the poems to this point, quite immensely, in fact (I like it when poets make me laugh), I was pleased that the initial poem was recognizable and no less pleasing when I first encountered it. I stopped and placed the book on my lap. I was on my second bus, coming home from work, having sat on the second bench in the blazing sun, sweat running tracks down my back under my tank top, and I did not want to forget before I reached home. Page 66. I had gotten on the second bus first, willfully not waiting for a young mother to precede me because I do not believe that the simple act of having children necessarily affords one respect. After all, almost anyone can have a child. But perhaps I will feel differently when I have children. If I can have children.