In your billfold. Nestled in the inside
Pocket of a woolen coat. As if there’s
Money changing hands. You would look at your
Daughter as if grapefruit. As if airplane.
As if a commodity to be bought
And sold. As if her Japanese lanterns
In the window lit straight to the street to
Invite all the men who have visited
Over the last month. Over night. Over
A few hours. Over the grunts and smells
Coming from her room. Over the money
That pays for all the in app charges that
You rack up on your cell phone so you can
Feel like a good, responsible parent.