Going to Extremes

An original poem.

the first thing
a child learns in the kitchen
is that the stove is hot
so, so hot
too hot
don’t touch
never touch

living in the desert
you get used to the heat,
which is to say that in July 
you get used to opening the front door 
like opening the oven door
and changing your mind
about leaving the house
at all

to look at the sun
you put on special glasses
or else burn your retinas;
even in a solar eclipse
you wear them, except maybe 
for a brief, risky glimpse
of totality

and now it’s time for a party
ultrasound photos in hand
guns or glitter
tractors or tiaras
the weight of a lifetime of expectations
in a single slice
of pink or blue
cake

beer and calluses 
anger issues
stop crying

dishes and babies
slut shaming
may contain wine

a child is born
the doctor looks between the legs
and starts to speak:
It’s a—

no
no
block my ears
look away
too hot
too bright

don’t you know what you’re doing?
it’s too much

too much