Flowers For The Unborn
If you get really unlucky and are born,
I am morally bound to advise you to kick
holes in your cradle, make war on your
sippy cup. Trash your onesies, shit your
twosies. Spit out the pabulum Mom serves.
Teeth the knees of your daycare providers .
Fail grade school. Don’t go out for sports.
Strike against matrimony. Tie Mom’s tubes that
dumped you into this abyss of rotting afterbirth.
We will do our part to make sure this does
not happen, that you are not born. We need to
end this. We promise not to disturb your generation,
The Great Unborn, ever again, with our great and
wanton lust. Hear us now cry dispassionately,
“No more births!”
We hope it is some consolation to know
that we will place flowers on your graveeven though you were never born.
G. Louis Heath, Ph.D., Berkeley, 1969, teaches at Ashford University, Clinton, Iowa. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. His books include Mutiny Does Not Happen Lightly, Long Dark River Casino and Vandals In The Bomb Factory. His most recent poems have been published in Poppy Road Review, Writing Raw, Inkstain Press, Verse-Virtual, and Squawk Back. He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org