Pieta

His cries quieted eventually
like ants disappearing down an ant-hole,
he'd woken on the underground
from a passion of outstretched on his mother's lap sleeping—
the bottle had already dropped
and she bent so his hand held stretched out
almost touched the floor,
but it missed and she picked the bottle up
where it rattled on the train floor before it stopped,
and he didn't wake only the copper lights
with ornamental shadows made him rise
outstretched, the bone-buttons bowed on his duffel coat
and his lower midriff bared where the T-shirt rode
up on his mother's tartan pants
and shining patent leather boots: he screamed, he screamed
and she rocked him and comforted,
eventually the ants fled
but Judas came with his rifling hands
and before sleep came again
made sure they got off and proceeded round
the station through a brilliant tunnel
and some stairs rising toward the stars.

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