About My Mother

Fetch

F is for the fetching life lesson that brings you nowhere.

F is for freeing up the verse.
F is for free verse.
F is for feminine endings, Jasmine said.
Fuck the final hypercatalexis, Jeremiah said.
But weak syllables can be fetching, Jasmine said.
F is for fetching moments.
F is for fetching the soap from the storeroom.
F is for fetching the milk from the fridge.
F is for fetching the milk glass.
F is for fetching the bourbon to have with the milk.
F is for fetching the leftover sandwiches.
F is for fetching yesterday’s papers for a tablemat.
F is for fetching the dog and giving it cold cuts.
F is for fetching the meatloaf and giving it to the dog.
F is for fetching the open can of sardines.
F is for fetching the chilies for chopping.
F is for fetching curry puffs from the kopitiam.
And saying it was made at home and by hand.
And saying there’s no work-life balance.
And saying the kids are abandoned in daycare.
And saying there’s drool everywhere.
And saying the drool is not the dog’s.
F is for fetching the plastic crate by its handle.
F is for piling the toys in the crate like a landfill.
F is for pouring them out to watch them tumble.
F is for the fantasy of watching the mighty fall.
F is for the big things turning small.
F is that kind of voyeurism.
F is fetching that kind of gratifying feeling.

F is the know-fuck-all life lesson that leads you nowhere.