Out to Buy Milk

I'm following this road,

my windshield spattered with salt,

snowbanks slumped at the edges,

a red stutter of stop signs.

What I'm carrying is useless,

Kleenex and a butterscotch drop

that escaped from cellophane,

change rattling by the gearshift.

Exhaustion trails me:

I'm staggering

under the weight of your smallness,

your serrated voice, your sticky

tracks up and down my arms,

your plastic animals, slimy

with drool, your hunger fishtailing

from blankets I lay gently on you.