My hands are pregnant with poetry.
Words and phrases formed in its belly.
And now it is time.
The due date was a month ago.
It is an act of labor.
I kept trying.
And I had to open myself.
To people who I did not know.
Then the poetry was finally pulled out.
And a doctor slapped me.
Not with a ticket
Those are police you are thinking about
And not on my back side.
But we slapped hands
Together in unity
Because he said he finally got
Why I wrote poetry
Because at first it was inside of me.
And now what I had
Is the world’s to enjoy.