Birthday

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.

Robert Treybur is the pseudonym for an otherwise unassuming civil servant quietly living somewhere in the continental united states.

Find more by Robert Treybur in the Author Index.

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