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
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