song of your mom

your mom's hams are like hams but like
gigantic ones, like each half-leg
its own enormous mudbathing hog. your mom on her bike
a gas giant perched on a golfball peg
improbably wobbling down the middle of the left-turn lane
when chairs see your mom coming they break before
she reaches them to save themselves the pain
your mom draws tides when she pedals to the liquor store
your mom drowns cities ruins satellites
the milky way is just your mom's discharge
the sun itself her ass in shimmering tights
where will she rest her feet, your mom so large
your house so small she cannot leave or stay
her gravity tugs on you night and day

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