All she could see were the colors, bright orgasmic colors
Through the fog in her brain, she saw dancing kittens
She left us, She wandered, and in her mind
As she felt the first stab of pain she wondered

Plop!
Should it really be that loud? The sound suffocated the tiny room
Another life down the red bucket
Doctor fake had refused to give her something for her pain
Instead he offered to help her par take some vodka he had in his medical bag
“For emergencies” he explains, “if you know what I mean? he he”
I took her hand, smiled encouragingly and gave her a couple Panadols
Saddened by what she was about to lose, She prepared myself for more
Grabbing his machine, she waited
In that dingy room, as beautiful light danced on the shades of the
shady “doctors” morgue
She prepared for death

Plop! More of what they had created with John
More of what was her, was being taken, stolen
Her laughter, her unborn bundle of sadness
Was being poured into that red bucket
I couldn’t watch anymore
I let my mind wander and I begun thinking about the Tuesday Pizza inn offer
Two for one offer, I could smell the grease from the Kenchic downstairs

Plop!
I tried to not to look but I was fascinated
She wasn’t making even a single sound, I was afraid for her
I held her limp hand, as a tear and a smile covered her beautiful face
I cried for her, huge sobs brought on by fear
Her pain was immensely suffused by guilt
That bucket ate he/she, they would never know tears or tomorrow
Fears would never reach them
She had abandoned her bundle into a red bucket
In the waiting room, as we sat next to other sad girls waiting for their turn
She had said to me “I was going to name him Jeremy”

Plop!
Why was it taking so long?
I held on tighter, crying into her hand
All that took minutes to make
Was taking forever to be unmade by the
White jacketed unsmiling fake
Into that red bucket

 

© ami jasho (her blog)