I'm here to lie and look beautiful

When I have children I will be
ancient beyond counting and wield infinite power
with unimaginable cruelty.
I will go on epic journeys in infernal machines
which spirit me away to the exotic lands that lie
at the other end of the motorway.

These journeys will be epic.

I will travel to the edges of infinity and return
with brightly coloured plastic parts which,
fitted together correctly,
make nothing like a car.
I will pretend that my life is as interesting
as their small scale makes it seem,

that I was once the sort of person who
woke up naked on foreign beaches
and ran faster than the police,
whose lives I held like spun glass in the cup of my hands
and who, along with everyone else, I spared
in my infinite mercy.

(On my more deluded days I clench
my fists into bitter balls as if to crush
the glass that isn't there.
I bite my nails to the quick and squeeze).

When I have children I will probably be declared
an unfit mother. The law
will see my ragged palms and hand
my babies to some girl, some smiling woman
with scraped-up hair and too much truth
who will betray them with the closed fist of her kindness.