the baby factory

she works in the hospital,
in the baby mill
where the babies keep coming
day in day out.
they are stacked up
in the hallway
like cords of pink and dark
wood.
they are all crying,
or sleeping,
being fed. some in trays of blankets
being held
together by string
and tape.
there's no stopping these
babies, she says.
filling out the forms
with new names. boy or girl.
they keep coming.
keep taking up the space
that we leave behind.
twelve today, and more coming,
she says
wiping her brow, and smiling.