22
Feet up in stirrups, insides turned out,
and everything but my pride on display.
The only diagnosis I was given was,
"Woman, you failed...".
To wash it down, a 25% chance to procreate,
Oh, and lousy prescription.

But they don't make drugs for days like those.

I used to spend every waking free moment
remembering and retracing in my mind,
to pin point the exact moment,
the split second, of this "failure".
I can't find it, who knows where I went wrong.
And maybe that's the real problem.

So when I chalk it up as a loss, throw it in the trash
with the other opportunities in my life
that I've pissed down the drain
and someone asks me
"What would you do if opportunity knocked...."
(despite all current situations)

I'd sit 'em on down and try and be his friend.

06/11/2008

Author's Note: how do you like your eggs???...I'd eventually like them fertilized. and i know that's not what he wants to hear.

Posted on 06/12/2008
Copyright © 2024 Nanette Bellman