Bastardman's Mother Speaks Of The Birth

That night was bramble and full
of Aretha. It was a Tuesday
or perhaps August.
To improve the evening I made seven
whispering incisions along the inside of my thighs.
These cuts were necessary
because of the swelling variety of laundry detergents
and the unconstitutional natures of the
War Powers Act.
Unfortunately the incisions
and the blood they willing
donated had minimal socio-political effect; however
they did help the child.
When I strained, and he was born, the cuts
fluttered and applauded.
That blood glowed with joy.
Their praises and adulation soaked him,
chromosome, pheromone, and hair.


Poems | More Poems | A Statement on Making