The Gypsies Singing Good-Bye to Their Child

When we stole you
we also took the kitchen’s largest pot
and three round loaves of bread.
The pot you slept in sometimes.
The loaves became your favorite toys.
One you tore in half and used as a coconut
to recount for us Monty Python’s Holy Grail.
But we read the papers. We’re not such fools.
That’s why we’ve left you in this park.
Your front tooth we pulled so we’d at least have something.
It’s the only hurt we hope will never heal.
We take turns sucking it at night.
Each time it grows smaller, less distinctly bone.
I don’t know what we’ll do when it’s all gone.