They asked me to be ten minutes early
To my appointment, So I made sure that I was ten minutes late, Which didn't make a difference because The doctor couldn't explore me until Twenty minutes later. The clock ticks and I play Tetris, I watch the pregnant lady bob along, As I clear a few rows. I politely ask, "how far along are you?" Trying to be conversational, Trying to care about That new thing sprouting in her Uterus, Covered by the overpriced Maternity clothing she probably bought From an all maternity clothing store, In Beachwood, Where she entered through Saks, And the security officer did not look at her With questionable eyes, like he did Me, When I showed up not pregnant, Not in maternity clothes, But in my pajamas, And my broken purse holding Insufficient cash for anything surrounding The officer, And birth control, a doctor’s order, To prevent not only the purchase of maternity clothing, As some seem to believe, But also, that which marks me as woman, And its cramps, But I apologize, Now I’m trying to get you to care.
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AuthorI like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me. © 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.
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