The Bad Mom

Oz is has been in lock down at the YMCA while I work my meaningless retail job. I walked down cellblock B for babies.  Each room has a half door where the wardens hang and taunt one another and sometimes throw notes attached to strings of thread they’ve unwoven from their underwear. The head baby presses its face against the plexy glassed doggie door desperately waiting to be paroled.

At the end of the day I went to identify my kid in the baby line-up; until I realized all the babies had been changed into YMCA jumpsuits.  Fuck!  They all look the same.  I couldn’t tell which one was mine until I started picking each one up and asking it, “Do I look like your mommy?”

 After one week he caught some sort of kennel cough and the warden says he’s cutting a tooth.  Next it was stink eye then lice. I don’t want my kid raised by a bunch of cowboys and Indians.  It’s time for an adventure, lets go to the “Aunt Farm” for the summer.  “Aunt Farm”

Is what I refer to as my sisters house aka Ozzy’s aunt and her farm of children ages: 13-8-6.  My younger sister is separating from the kid’s dad and needs a babysitter for the summer, we’ll be sleeping in her garage in Santa Cruz, CA…..Peace Out Portland.

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