(This is not a rhyming poem, but one of prose.)
SUMMER BIRTH
Restless, rolling, sweating, unsleeping,
I mentally try to push the heat away.
The air ducts are dry of cooling waves;
humidity pulls salty tears from my pores.
Pain slashes through me as you fight
to be born on this hottest night of the year.
Open windows throughout the house bring
no relief - no breezes find us.
My bottom lip suffers the ravages of my teeth
as I try to stifle torturous screams.
The only other person in this abandoned site
is a half-crazed man of little intellect.
But then, who am I to decide who's smart.
Look at the mess I've made of my twenty years.
For the sweet release of heroin and nose candy,
I've slept with so many, committed such vulgar acts.
You, Child of Summer, will be born bearing the burden
of my sins, straining for a taste of pain-killing drugs.
For a moment, you rest, as do I, staring at the moldy,
sagging ceiling, wishing it would fall, ending us.
I used to think the greens of summer so beautiful,
but now, the scum covering the walls makes me yearn
for any other color, anything to elate my mind.
Ummmmppph! The pain! Slashing with razor keenness.
The dampness changes. A tentative finger finds blood
spreading from my body onto the filthy mattress.
At least, my sweet, we aren't dying from the frosts
of winter, but die we will. Where is the wind?
Just a tendril of fresh air winding through the room
would be a most wondrous gift. Perhaps it would be a
sign of forgiveness for the horror I've visited on you.
Baby, will you love me? Will I love you more than drugs?
No, I won't! I would sell you in a moment to get one rock,
one powder, one puff of anything which takes away my
thoughts, the mental pain, the agony of living one more day.
Why did I leave my home? Why did I give it all away?
How sweet the air conditioning would feel! The softness
of my bed would welcome me into Morpheus' arms until the morn.
But there was a reason I left. There was something, something
so frightening. What drove me from the walls of Heaven?
Waves of agony sweep my body. I feel your head crowning.
"Help!" I scream, no longer caring who hears, who answers.
"If God is in heaven, please send a savior now!"
Shuffling feet move with excrutiating slowness down the hall.
A deformed, frightening face edges around the door frame.
Only the eyes, glistening with tears, bears any human likeness.
"Help me!" I scream again and again. He edges closer and kneels
beside my dirty manger of birth. He hesitates, then lifts my slip.
Gentle hands pull you into a world in which you'll never live.
With amazing knowledge, the man ties the cord. Pulling a
knife from a ragged pocket, he severs your tie to me. Taking the
shirt from his back, he wraps you and places you in my arms.
I have nothing to offer you to suckle. I push you back into his arms.
"Take it to someone who can save it." I find myself begging this kind
stranger for your life. The blood gushes between my thighs. I feel
an odd lightness; the pain recedes. A wisp of cool air glides by.
Looking down at the mattress where my body lays, I see the man crying
and rocking you in his arms. Why does he care if I've died? Why does he
care if you live? No one has offered him arms of reassurance, yet he
rises and takes you to the police, leaving you in safety and he cries.