I machine wash cold the onesies
for my unborn son, wash and dry
inside out the dinosaur onesie,
the I’m one in a chameleon onesie,
the one with monsters, the one
with bears. I wash with like colors,
pour cups of hypoallergenic baby
detergent, folding feathers for flight,
outfits for the go-bag. Outside,
September morning air runs its gentlest
cycle around cul-de-sac,
machine-wash-cold as the catheter
that stabs contrast into my arm
during brain scans, a dye that inflames
red clouds upon my scalp and bee-
stings my side because I am allergic.
When my phone rings, it startles
a flight of doves. Their coos
rise into oak tree branches. On the other
end of the line, another brain
scan, another breakout.
Cameron Morse lives with his wife Lili and son Theodore in Blue Springs, Missouri. His poems have been published in over 100 different magazines. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. Visit his Website, or Facebook page, for more information.