They’d have to save all the whales before they get to prisoner’s rights.

Still, to

protect the unborn I’m cuffed in front transported on a state bus.

Will the maternity ward be pastel blue or pastel pink? It’s institutional white. I’m no

angel. They are no monsters. They speak in a hush.

Going under, reminds me of the high life. Like a slap, his cry kills my buzz. We bond

for two years, then he’s off to his sentence.

The name I gave him won’t stay.

He won’t remember my scent.

He doesn’t have my eyes.

But maybe one day if he’s not shipped too far on a side street glazed with rain. I’ll

pass a stranger who won’t be.