Alice presides:
agrees to be mother,
although she’s as mad
as a snake on crack,
she clatters the cups,
cups her breasts
offering sugar;

slaps down the paws
that clamour for more,
Strings of her pinafore
stretched to breaking.
Wishes she hadn’t accepted
the invitation that led
to the hood where trouble
resided;

where even the ones that were fed
are still wanting.
Read us our fortunes,
they beg.

Alice, who never learned
to say no
empties the pot
and pours over the leaves.
The March wind sweeps in.

Maggie Z Brown
https://allpoetry.com/Margrit

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