Waiting to be Discharged from the Maternity Ward

Consider the eyes of a boy who has the heart 
to cram a Black Cat firecracker down the throat of a Gecko.
 
Consider his hands, the giddy rush as he tries
and tries to light the match that will ice his blood.
 
Consider his laughter, the sound of explosion 
the slivers of lizard that land in his hair.
 
Consider my son, hours old, bruised 
from the battle of breaking away from me
 
as I consider how to keep him 
from stealing my lighter, from sneaking out back,
 
my love in his pocket, 
M-80 in his hand.