Mothership

of the stickball armada: she launched every other YFS ship. Mama’s hovering, shrouding the damnedest city in a waxy penumbra. Mothership fields are giants – sweeping asphalt baronesses with the mirthsome shitheads to indulge them. Mama’s cookin’ loud. Crop circling all over. She sweats maternal love and mistrust of the hatchlings she’s disseminated across stickball’s continent. She gave you gelatinous life. Even though she regrets it, she’ll cry when you die. ’til then the Mothership’s gonna anoint you: Campari and buds and suds all down ya foreheads. Mama wants more kids. She’ll rain Penns while she’s doin’ it.