Methylphenidate is the name I use
To lull my child to sleep,
Swaddling her diaper rash in vinyl chloride.
I haven’t slept in days but no matter, red eyes
they suit me like latex gloves.
Paraben is the name I write on my mailbox
to ensure everyone knows not to write.
I’m not home, but I am
Inhabiting the home.
Breathing in lingering Febreeze fumes,
my mouth pressed against the armchair arm.
While the baby’s red mouth squalls.
Hetrocyclic amine is the name I say
on my child’s first birthday,
to call her out from hiding under the stairs.
I wrap my arm around her chest
and urge her to pet the neighbor’s snarling dog.
While his wife frosts a high fructose cake
and counts out Styrofoam plates.
Meagan Maguire is a 22 year old poet living and occasionally working in Portland, Maine. She enjoys reading, running, and informing people there actually is another Portland besides the one in Oregon. Previously her work has been featured or will be featured in The Alarmist, The Golden Sparrow Literary Review, The Eunoia Review, Words & Images, and Marco Polo Arts Mag.
