not my baby

Big, bold belly wrapped tightly in technicolor
precedes braces, pimples, ponytail
bopping down the hallway past bright red lockers to the class where
Another child screams with delight, "I felt the baby kick!"

While miles away a different ponytail streams
behind the streaking toddler as she screams into the road
And tires squeal and Mother yells at driver,
But the baby has no hand to hold.

Not my hand, which trembles, pulling tight a rubberband
around my ponytail. I sit and stare at the tile, and
Streaks of red, tear-moistened fingers, a single line.
And wonder, when will it be my time?