if i did not have kids

If i did not have kids
I would move to europe for the autumn
cultivate a moody alter ego who sits at cafes alone 
drinking champagne and slurping oysters
every afternoon at four

If i did not have kids i would
ride the train up the east coast
and watch the trees and towns go by
and read poems
one at a time

If i did not have kids i would be 
a writer with a desk of my own in a house of my own
with lemon walls and a wide window 
I would take a trip to the north of england in december
just to swim in the freezing sea 
once 
and warm up by a woodfire stove in a cottage
far away

If i did not have kids 
I would flirt at bars 
with cute waiters

I would sleep till nine 
the weight of the comforter making a cozy pocket
for my soft body

I would spend all my money on clothes

I would walk through museums slowly
stopping at each masterpiece
dragging my feet

If i did not have kids i would have a career
I would travel for work and stay in crisp white beds
drink lobby coffee
sit at hotel bars late at night then slide my plastic key into the slot
hear the soft click 
push down
and enter my room
a room of my own

As it is

My almost two year old is sitting next to me as i type
making sounds, pulling off his socks and saying “cock”
his diaper is full; i can smell it 
(plus he said “boop”)

he wants me to read him the rooster book 
again
I want to daydream
I want 
I want 
I want

his brown eyes, his soft lashes, his round cheeks
his wet lips
he’s wearing his pink helmet
sparkly orange tutu

saying “mommy”
looking at me 

If i did not have kids i would long
for them

I want what i want