the world is round.

I fold the paper bag in half.
I’m not taking it to the recycling bin.
I can do better than that.
I’m taking it home.
my baby’s going to live to 36, 
my baby’s going to live to 70, 
the world will still be here, 
will support him if he supports her
I just hope he doesn’t procreate 
I serve salads that don’t rely on animal sources,
and fake meats for dinner.
They’ll be less carbon emissions,
I kept the arsenic out of him,
he’ll be able to breathe easy,
his little body won’t be filled with poison
I check his lotion for cancer causing agents.
I’ll just use natural oils.
He will always have hair. 
He has to always have hair. 
I picture him, ALWAYS with a full head of hair. 
I decide not to honk at the woman that cuts us off.
What if she retaliates? We’re alive. Let’s just drive off.
If I do A and B and C,
and I never do D or E,
we’ll be fine,
I think.
I hope. 
I pray. 
I know so little.
The size of my love. The size of my fear. The shape of the world.

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