Spoil't Sestina

I wish I had a fat mom.

Who would give me squishy hugs,

Like a spoil’t tomato.

Fanning herself with pamphlets

And salt-faded bucket hats.

I wish I had a fat mom.

Who would give me hairy hats,

And never skimp on kisses and hugs.

Who would read me makeshift culinary pamphlets.

Who, like a chef, cuts a tomato.

Her hands are rubbed raw like a skinned tomato.

She writes a love poem on the pamphlets.

I want a fat mom.

I want some fresh-out-of-the-oven hugs.

And to play dress up with her ill-fitting hats.

Her hubby left her ALL his Yankee baseball hats.

One is yellowed like my pee, and droopy like a tomato.

…some hot cocoa and a blanket-hugs.

I want a fat mom. Mom?

She has 316 of those melanoma pamphlets.

All with recipes written over print-type-pamphlets.

They’re hidden under sand crusted, pollen dusted hats.

I need a fat mom.

One who always tends to her garden of tomatos.

Who, to each little green glob, she kisses and hugs.

They grow so tall, like beanstalks, they like her hugs.

But one, she did not color over; “Sunspots” pamphlet.

So now, she never goes outside. She holds the hats.

So now, the garden is bursting with spoil’t tomato.

And I never got to ask you, mom,

For one more fatty hug, for another round of dress-up-hats

Or why you no longer bring those pamphlets,

From the “market”, and no more trips out to the rotten patch of tomatos

I need you, fat mom.