There's no peanut butter to put in the cream of wheat
for dinner, and the food stamps won't come till Monday.
I've searched the ashtray for butts
as the diapers soak in the bathtub.
The baby makes waking noises from our makeshift bed
on the floor in the corner.
I stumble over and lie down beside her,
put her to my breast.
The sun beams through the window and ignites
her tiny black irises.
I close my eyes as she latches on, that white river surging
inside my flesh.
"OK, OK," I say, and open my eyes
to the light streaming in from the outside world.