jamezilla1 (jamezilla1) wrote in poetic_rains,
jamezilla1
jamezilla1
poetic_rains

URBAN PLANNING forgive me for it is long and unpleasant

Waiting in my car
Lurching, lurching, lurching

Someone planned this place?
Really?
Did they plan for this jacked up pick-up truck
To be positioned just outside my open window
Opened because my AC is broke
Because I am broke
I’m broke but I scuttle about to make ends meet
Red goes green and the truck
Belches black and fills my space
In my car, it’s in my face.
This can’t be good for the baby.

There I go again
Of all the things to think at a time like this
Now it’s the two train crush
Downtown’s blocked in, so’s the way out
What baby wants to have this
Mommy can’t feed herself
About to lose them a place to dwell
Can’t get organized to not be late
Getting from work to the doctor’s
Still reeling from this happening in the first place.

Still flashing back to a night
Two months ago;
I’m still trying to remember the boy
Still trying to remember even being asked if this,
Any of it,
Was what I’d take on.

Well by the time I knew what all it entailed
What I’d now happen to have to carry
Other than just carrying a sweaty, bull-headed, word-using college-boy
Lurching, lurching, lurching
Situation, situation, situation

Yeah, I can’t have to deal with it
Eighteen more years ahead
Of still filtering that out of wishing
Wishing I’d had the strength to push him off

Sorry, baby, this can’t be
I’m not good for you now
It’s not good for you or me

In another life or other time
There might be some better signs,
And I’ll love you with a heart and life that’s full,
But today, this week, this year
This decision is what’s responsible,
And since that boy couldn’t bother with responsible
Someone’s got to step up and be responsible,
Like a parent.

Finally no trains, no lights,
No smoky diesel trucks to fight
Just a couple of appointments will set this right
We’ll try again someday to meet
We’ll be stars, you and I
That time
But for now there’s no amount of
Food stamp, therapy, single mom, welfare
That can make you a good home,
Compared to the one in your dreams;
That you deserve.
In front of the doctor’s office I take a moment to
Sigh
And cry
And just try not to die.

I go within and we begin
And with screwed up courage
I read packets of wordage
Then stop, hold on, stay in control.

There’s a new form that they have to share with me
Something the state inserted, mandatory
What was my second visit has to be number two of three.
They have to show me what’s inside me.

Well fine, but I thought that bill had been defeated
Doctor admits the General Assembly sneakily had it repeated
For him this means something he has to do
That slows the abortion with something new.

Easy, that’s fine, we still have one month on trimester time,
Ultrasound today, come back, that’s fine.

So cold, naked, under crinkly paper gowns.
Still I think on how these roadblocks make for better towns
In a dim room with machines that faintly whir
And a technician pressing and pressing, looking for a stir
Can’t find a thing, just a minute dear
The tech steps out and leaves me with a minute of growing fear
And another
And another
It’s about to get very detached around here
It’s about to get very dissociated around here
I feel her plan lurching, lurching, lurching
That’s the start of the fear

The nurse and doctor step up to the plate
Examining the screen, take a moment, contemplate…
Just a different internal geometry,
Not a problem at any rate,
Just have to image with a different method.

Without another word and without any doubt,
And very like sweaty college-boy when he’s on and in and out.
The doctor attaches an internal probe the older model’s coming out
Though cold, plastic and institutional
A bit of gel will make up for it being nine-inches-long.
And the lurching, lurching, lurching
A deep breath of acceptance; this is how it happens
They put it in and do their thing like you’re not there
Because, you know, highway construction doesn't care.

Putting an object in there
In this state
Is illegal in any other way
And all along
She’s been a good girl,
But now it’s more accepting having no say.
Closing her eyes doesn't stop her hitting this roadblock,
Closing her eyes doesn't keep the confusion blocked,
Closing her eyes is no kind of cock-block.
Is it the doctor, the state, or her congressman

That just twisted it up for a better view?
The real concerning pains building; those are new.
This isn't sweaty college-boy,
And is the doctor really to blame
Even he’s been shoved by unseen forces into this game,
But here it is shoved up inside her all the same.
Now it’s inside her space, it’s in her face
Just like the burn of the shame.
This was supposed to be an abortion roadblock
But in no way was it sweaty’s cock-block
And now it’s like most other urban planning,
At best it’s ad hoc.
Will the state figure out it’s raping some hers before it’s too late?
Or will it happen for years before they sit back to take stock?


March 28, 2012   J. Scott Wilson   crossposting
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