inside the beginning 2

I don’t remember my crib, but

I’m sure I had one.

If so, it was made of wood.

not the expensive kind of wood

one might find up the highlands

to a kid with Harvard pre-determined

in its brain.

the slats of my crib were

wide enough for me to stick

my head through.

It was dangerous.

my crib was dangerous.

It was a fire trap.

its bedding could’ve smothered me.

an animal might’ve crawled

over me, sniffing my early head

as if it was a ball of a foreign substance,

with maybe a lick or two with its pink,

sandy tongue in order to come to

some sort of determination.

my crib’s illegal now.

It wasn’t intentional for it to be that way.

who knew any better?

what's the use?

nobody's left to plead no contest.

I've been told by elder survivors that the animal’s

name was “Rebop”.