Her brown eyes stare at the Y fork in the road.

As he turns the car left, she’s back

in the taupe coloured room,

looking down past her legs spread wide,

a pair of grey eyes staring

– the colour of steel – above a white slash

of cloth that covered the lower half of the face.

It hovers just above her slightly rounded belly,

its brow creased with concentration. One more masked face

beside her. “Count backward from 100,” the voice

is low. She barely hears the instructions.

“100, 99, 98,” when did she no longer mouth the numbers?

She wakes in a brown leather chair – one white

blanket covers her legs. Warmth spreads

across her belly – cold fingers touch

the pliable rubber ripples on the bag,

its contents wobble

like her stomach, bile rising into her throat,

Mozart playing – reminds her of elevator muzak

requiem for the alien being she carried

——        a peanut of human tissue – now just medical waste


4 thoughts on “Wasted”

  1. I have always liked the spaces between your sentences (comfortable on the eyes)and the words are always so powerful yet exact. Like a point finely made. So it always surprises me when I see someone reveals through a comment that what I was just reading was a poem. This isnt the first time either. (???)

    Either way, I enjoy the way you write. I wanted to comment on how whimsicaly cheerfull those wet lightbulbs are. But somehow it just doesnt seem appropriate in face of this intense dark stage of life ended before it begins..


  2. Sara – thank you for your words. Your comments are always insightful and give me a fresh point to view from.

    Yes – I like the lightbulbs, the moment I found them, and how they perfectly sit on the page. It is true they do not fit with this subject matter. Sadly I cannot have a different background for each page – but then maybe the contrast is in its own way a statement, about the different sides of life – of me. 🙂


There are two things I know for certain. One: Bert and Ernie are gay. Two: I want to hear your opinion.

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