Ghislaine was not a Made Mommy

We’ve got to admit throughout the city there were babies being born. LaCuinidad, and La Cuinadadmamie.

Mommy.

I don’t know what you are doing here sister, kin to Baby Doc, or Barbie Dock, or Poppa Doc, or printemp, Catholic docket,

Or why you whine into the moonset, where our perfect child was born.

Wasn’t the school good enough for you, or were you Angel in the Morning, or a Sunday Football Slam, a richochete,

A rectifying, wreck of a rec room, wat to go lonesome into a truthsome room.

Recreation room, not oblivilion room, with TV and bloom.