Baby Bink
was taken.
It is all light fun.
Donna (from Twin Peaks),
she plays the mother, she
knew Old Willy had photographed
Cotwell babies since the Great
Depression (when everyone
was hungry, when many people
died), but she dared for more.
She wanted Baby Bink upon
“the daily correspondence”.
This was a creature she
had made, look how angelic
he is, hear the music swell
when his blue raindrop eyes
twinkle at pathetic thieves.
There is a feeling, most scenes,
of Schrodinger’s laugh track
at the constant subverted horror.
(The way
the baby slides when shoved
by a revolving door.)
There would be a fear,
real fear, if the horrors were not all
averted. The film pervades,
behind a smile, on the recurring
joke of babies almost dying,
but Baby Bink is fine, he is
an angelic child, he crawls
beneath unswerving traffic
with a smile.
Does Baby Bink
see past this fairy story?
Can he hear the orchestra
as it holds the sour notes,
see that robot gorilla rusting
in a warehouse darkness? He gets his
Boo-Boo back, the veterans
sing in harmony far younger (brighter)
than their own lungs could reach,
the cops surround the bandits,
complete defeat. We do not have
to watch a baby buried.
How else could we laugh?
John Chrostek is a Pushcart-nominated poet, playwright and author who works at Powell’s City of Books in Portland, OR. His work has been featured in publications such as Artemis, River Heron Review, and Cathexis Press.