Palpable in the stifling stillness of the examining room,
Penetrate the lumpy surface of my hijacked womb.
Like a cadaver,
I’m denied a peek at the sonogram’s monitor,
Only a poker face offering no clues to the sci-fi picture.
Taking a gamble –
Charm having failed as a device –
I beg the technician for a full view of the aliens. (No dice)
From her boombox,
Light jazz intended for heavy petting
Though not in the “saxy” way James’ bebopping horn blows
In the serenade beginning:
“There I go, there I go, there I go, ther-r-r-re I-I go-o-o-o …”
Belly-buckling sobs drown out indifferent witness,
Blur my vision of a future filled with ornery offspring,
Underscoring that technology can’t eradicate emotional sting.
I hasten to hoist underpants over hamhocks and hips,
Shuddering from the silence lingering in air
Frostier than a January breeze lashing unkissed lips.
But, alas, a final violation –
Raven-haired receptionist dispenses humiliation,
A well-rehearsed line to collect my fine,
Her gatekeeping eyes flashing a No Exit sign.
At this existential impasse,
I long for the lesser of two evils: a Sartrean hell.
Then, repetition of my name breaks the philosophical spell.
“Do I pay now?”
“Oh, you’ll pay later.”
My fate is sealed as I watch serpents
Strike amid the tresses of the HMO-paid instigator.
Copyright © 2000/2011 By Chantale Reve