by Robert Treybur
Warmth and darkness all around me,
Holding me tight; a cocoon of the carefree.
Wanting desperately to stay where I was put
Inside my mother…
They say birth is pain and joy.
I would agree with the first but not the last.
I cause my mother pain even now, whilst in my happy place.
Cold metal tongs gripping me, pulling…
I resist with all my might!
Do not go gentle into that bad light!
I twist and I slip, playing corporal hide and seek,
But even severed ganglia won’t conceal me forever…
I hear a voice yelling about losing her.
Cold metal tongs continue to grip my cap, pulling me inexorably
Through a tunnel… opening whiteness… so bright!
Beep… Beep… Beep… BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…
Held high by forceps I shine with blood and cerebrospinal fluid!
7.62 x39 in all my insidious glory—quite a big boy indeed!
Father: Mr. Kalashnikov’s automatic device.
Mother: Deceased female, aged 8, name unknown.
© 2019 Robert Treybur
Robert Treybur is the pseudonym for an otherwise unassuming civil
servant quietly living somewhere in the continental united states.
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