How are bullets and babies the same? See how one might be like the other In the universal life and death game Where one is made by nature's mother, And the other by man is created For all her domain to endanger In a process just as automated As a fallopian baby arranger, Which like a rifle is a kind of tube, And tubes are where things can get stuck As in a round hole by a cube For a gynecologic cluster fuck... As bad as when machine guns are jammed, And both by plans needing re-diagrammed.
When I feel her kicking in my tummy, I’m thankful for our common creatureliness. I too kick and squirm when held too tightly. Please rest dear child. There will be time enough for roaming freely in this beautiful world.