is the scream of a baby who wants nothing
more than to be picked up and played with is not
hungry is not wet is not too hot or cold has nothing
physically wrong with it just wants to be picked
up out of the cot with the pastel blankets the teddy
bear the mobile the silent bars
just wants someone to take it out and play with it
the voice tries out its different screams
the red one full of “A”s the orange one full of “E”s
the brown one full of “O”s the green one full of “U”s
it hasn’t yet tested the white one full of “I”s
fears that might break something vital
the voice tries out all those screams
then it tries to talk like the grownups
but the grownup words don’t fit
in its mouth it can’t construct
a sensible narrative it can’t do
so many syllables so many consonants
when it tries to talk like the grownups
the grownups laugh
into their grownup drinks
and offer it pink lemonade
it hates pink lemonade
it prefers breastmilk
the milk of a woman who fortifies herself with Guinness
the sort of Guinness you have to go to Dublin to get
the voice has gone beyond
the breastmilk of metaphor
and into the Guinness of pataphor
but nobody picks it up / the teddy bear
is unimpressed