Fallout from the War on Women

I was warm and toasty,
curled up, napping
in amniotic fluid,
without a worry
when suddenly
this metal thing
came into my room

poked around
and pulled me out.
The doctor stabbed me,
smashed my head,
cut off my arms and legs,
threw my pieces
in a bucket
with the others.
It's been a busy day
at the clinic.

At the closing hour,
a nurse dumped
the bucket
in a freezer sack,
took it out in the alley
and threw it in a bin.
In the morning
a private truck

Fallout from the War on Women

took the sack to
the garbage dump.
The driver tossed it
on the highest pile,
launching flies,
at least a thousand.

Sitting up here now
I can tell you
I don't need arms or legs.
I can hear
the angels singing.