Double Jack and Coke
Vildaya Haya

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doublejack and coke
       tall with cherries
             killed you or maybe
    it was the pack of wides a day
  no matter, the woman’s clinic 
with the doctor that looked like a linebacker
     would have gotten you
                            if I hadn’t thrown myself off a stool
but you got the best of all of us
    slipping out unexpectedly in the shower
saving my onehundredsixty big ones
                   this is my way of saying thanks. . . .

sitting in the emergency waiting room
      what remains of you (boy or girl)       ?
            all three inches
     (concealed in a paperbag I hope nobody mistakes for lunch)
stuck under this uncomfortable chair I spent the last
               five hours in

three hours later after they call me back
       and the nurse plops your tupperware coffin ungracefully
 on the counter after a quick peep
                  she says you’re just tissue
     “seen worse” she says “more formed”
when I scream as she tries to put you with my personal belongings
       (you don’t belong to me anymore, but it’s hard to get the words out)
          I don’t believe her, think she’s lying, and hate her even           
more when she sticks that catheter in me
       all the things they do to me back there I accept as payback
for not having the courage to have you
         but that doesn’t stop me from crying the whole time
        and feeling like I’m missing something
      like I missed something
it’s hard to sit down in the shower now
           even though your’e long gone
        (my guess is with that days trash
    lunch for whatever rats roam the town dump
 probably a better ending than the beginning you would have had
here)