Toy Poem by James McLain

My legs are are tanned.
Am I too handsom,
boy her baby skills.
She says I am delisious.
She says I am too sexy.
She says she loves to hate me.
But my eyes are always shinny,
skinny wet with tears.
I was never just a simple child.
I know that still I am.
But I am her favorite toy.
I am her oil boy.
She is my mother.
I am hers but not her husband.
And still, I am her toy.
She has to many boys.
I make her look at me.
I beg her.
Not to touch me there.
Not here and here, but there.