sonnet for suction

Some say the pump is mightier than the breast.
Like clockwork, a terrible efficiency---
or terrific. Depends on how it’s expressed
and your view, I suppose. It’s just past three-
thirty in the AM and I am grateful
for these moments made possible by ounces
pumped earlier and bottled, waiting,
white gold refrigerated. That sound, his
sweet sigh, means he’ll give up the waking ghost
and sleep soon enough. We rock, hum, dawdle
nightly; this tango, this diplomacy, mostly
because of the empowering bottle.
She’s getting some sleep now. Good. Here’s the crux:
Everything’s perfect when everything sucks.