Fuck Fundamentalism

EcTopic 

 

The wayward egg, confused by a tube

Slightly crooked,

Glided into its niche and found

A comfortable resting place,

Cutting short its usual journey

To roomier quarters,

Seemingly happy to grow

And thrive short of its

Prescribed destination.

 

Its recipient, unaware

Of her renegade ovum,

Diligently took her daily dose

Of Folic acid, never deviating

From her prescribed checklist

Of prospective motherhood to do’s.

 

Not on the list was severe hemorrhaging

From misplaced, now unhappy egg

Nor was the doctor’s absence,

Bound by undefined laws,

Legal consultations, hippocratic sidestepping,

Waiting while time ruptured, out of time

 

The bed, now empty

Sheets replaced

Crisp, white, stiff with bleach

Still, soiled.

 

July 6, 2022

 The Birds 

I had a picnic with Mitski

On a grassy knoll

Overlooking an outdoor concert

Not sure who was playing, but someone

Who was not Mitski, since we were picnicking 

Maybe we shared a bottle of Rose

Since it was summer, I think

And that’s a summer drink

We ate vegan, olives were involved

She spoke of Laurel Hell,

Her new album in red vinyl

I told her my name is Laurel

Maybe we laughed at that

Maybe not, but she started dancing

As Mitski tends to do

She invited me to her concert

It may be in L.A. and I may attend

But, she won’t know me

She once said the Earth would be better

Without people

I guess then just the birds would sing.

March '22