THE MILKSOP

The milkman whistles on Tuesdays and Fridays

Happy in his work delivering Vitamin D

Homogenized Pasteurized cream and milk

To our insulated front-porch box provided

Free by the company. I never touch the stuff,

Unless, in bed to go to sleep, my mind awhirl

From too much late coffee or the onset

Of psychosis, I go downstairs to the kitchen

And stir up a scalded milk-white brew, rich

With butter, laced with salt, and gulp

My way back to a mindless comfort,

A trick I learned from my mother

Who wakes in her nights in anguish more than I.