FOUNDLING

After breakfast, I read the cereal box.
The rest of the kids are outside playing dodge ball.

In the visitors' room, the lady sips tea, the man
Pulls me roughly onto his lap. "Aren't you precious?"

But I'm not, I'm not.
My ears stick out and my hair won't curl.

If they take me, I might be lucky:
Books and a bedspread, horses and swings.

My green dress is puffy, I can't
Smooth it down.

Judith Clarke
Seattle