How To Have An Abortion

by Bryce A. Tayloi

Don’t think about the freckles he, or she, Might have, or how much hair, how big a grin, Or whether swimming would come naturally, Or whether–it?–might play the violin.

Don’t think of prom, don’t think of puppy love Or calculus, or snow, or spring in bloom, Or anything that might remind you of The future now contained within a womb.

Don’t feel anxiety, don’t feel regret, Don’t fret about some otherworldly guilt. Don’t feel the bond of parenthood, don’t let Insane outmoded Don Quixotes tilt.

At private windmills–don’t spill any ink Examining yourself. Don’t feel. Don’t think.

Americans prefer to speak of abortion as an abstraction. But, as the  poem makes so clear, the baby will not agree to remain an abstraction.


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