To a Toddler Bawling in a Pram
by Paul Hostovsky
I don’t wanna,
either.
You’re right,
the world is hideous,
one can only
weep.
I feel like screaming
my head off
next to your screaming head,
our red
faces contorting
in concert,
the people passing by
joining in irresistibly,
wailing and
keening in chorus,
with you the lead
crooner,
bandleader,
maestro.
Paul Hostovsky’s newest collection, Deaf&Blind, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag. His poems have won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net awards, the FutureCycle Poetry Book Prize and the Comstock Review’s Muriel Craft Bailey Award. He has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily and The Writer’s Almanac. He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter. Website: paulhostovsky.com
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What surprising, fascinating stuff can you tell us about the origin, drafting, and/or final version of “To a Toddler Bawling in a Pram”? We were on the trolley. It was crowded. It was stuffy. He was screaming his head off. And I thought to myself, he’s got the right idea. I would have started screaming my head off, too, but instead I started writing the poem. Thank god for sublimation
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