Jugs

Carried milk from the local dairy to my daycare room
then were sent back empty for refilling, round as moons,
with small pink caps that got replaced when too worn.
Add a -g to the end of jugs and they become, I guess, fun?
As when Christ turned the vats’ contents from water to wine,
and a better vintage even than had been served to begin,
prompting the wedding guests to rave, “This wise man,
our host, has saved the best for last – not given us the scum
once our palate’s already been ruined!” Mary’s bosoms
too were vessels for a life-giving potion that sustained
the best man ever known. Did you know that? Or that mine
have never sustained anyone, yet they’re still quite fine,
both firm and soft despite my age, and they’re mine alone?
And you’ve never seen them, even if you have, my son.

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