Blood of my blood and multiplying like a tumor like an army like a hot second,

If I call you fetus, I can put you in a Ziploc like a pulled tooth or flush you like a goldfish.

But you keep writing your name like a child in kindergarten like a check I cannot afford to cash,

Like the names of all the boys I used to list then tear into shreds in the trash,

Like the nametags at church children rip off like band aids then roll carelessly into buds,

I imagine you in there monogramming yourself onto doilies and letter jackets,

Already engraving into a desk nameplate or oversized trophy.

Even at the gas station your name twirls on child-size license plates and coke bottles.

I imagine you have already registered yourself as a missing person and multiplied on milk cartons.

But fetus will not beat us will not cheat us or meet us or repeat us or unseat us or defeat us or complete us.