we, men, can't have babies.
i can barely
handle a paper cut.
or an upset stomach
from calamari.
the idea of having something
growing in you
for nine months,
more or less, is a giant
cup of crazy.
i don't mind being there
at the beginning,
but glad i'm not
there at the end, except
for maybe
relaxing in the waiting
room,
playing wordle on my
phone, or thumbing through
a readers digest.
No comments:
Post a Comment