This poem is for all the sidewalk counselors and rescuers whose unsung heroism is recorded in books not of this world.
ORPHAN CHILD
Orphan child Quietly breathing
The man who conceived you
With anger is seething.
I don’t want a kid
The problem is yours
Go to the killer
Like the other whores.
Give me some help
Or else I die
Praying for a rescue
While in Mommy I lie.
I’m locked in a belly
On my way to a room
Where a doctor in white
Has readied my doom.
Who are these people
Locked to the fence?
I’ve got an appointment
They’re making me tense.
Counselor, counselor,
Come over here
Look at these pictures
Nothing to fear.
That’s my baby?
I never knew
Why didn’t they tell me?
Is this really true?
There’s no way I can bear
The life that I carry
The man is a whorehound
And never will marry
A baby’s a bother
Especially alone
Talk to the father
Where’s a phone?
Orphan child
Quietly breathing
The man who conceived you
With anger is seething.