Through the scanner
I watch.
Bewildered,
Dazed,
Exhausted.
Deprivation looming large at the horizon.
Walls of humiliation
Circles around the vantage point:
Belly,
Round, and carrying life.
I see it.
Doctor smiles and say it moves.
No.
It does not move, it weeps.
I listen.
I hear.
My eyes are glued to the vision I see.
I don’t need modern technology to define.
It is neither a boy nor a girl,
But a Bastard.
Don’t wrinkle yourself from the word
you yourself created.
Like all the other words:
B-a-b-y, l-o-v-e or h-u-m-a-n
Which come from the very alphabet!
The blind folded eyes,
Rip apart and
Put the womb in one side of the scale,
With all the other nothings in the other side.
You measure.
I laugh.
It is my belly,
My Bastard.
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