She's not an animal. She barely moves around.
She's tree-like, filled with sap.
Her roots are on the ground.
She's only temporary, crying from the heroin withdrawal.
Hand is rising, rigid from the forced contractions.
She's gotta get up really early for her job.
Another day another visit to the mob.
And she's not powerless.
She's on the side of teenage pregnancy.
'Cause some guy told her That her fetus has its mother's eyes.
She's gonna miscarry.
She's desperate, clutching fat.
Her knees are inward bound
The swathes of sluicing strands anoint her pubic mound
And she told everybody. Mom and Dad, Aunt Vicky and her wife
And the mailman. He will be so disappointed.
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