Turning the pamphlet’s well-worn and underlined pages,
in the soft green waiting room,
comparing bellies; yours ripe and ready,
mine a dream-filled pillow.
Choosing the one, that was hard,
the right one, my ideal other,
the right hair, right eyes.
Everything must be perfect for baby,
The plan meticulous,
your home town
a twenty-five minute drive,
just over the state line.
Our meeting “Hey, look at us,
how long? Me too.”
away from the video surveillance
of the Grantsburg prenatal unit.
“Perhaps I’ll bump into you again.”
Not too often, enough for a check up,
not enough for anyone to remember
seeing us together.
Double-checking dates.
Not too soon, not too late.
Timing is the key,
like me arriving at my
“What a co-incidence, next to yours”
auto, in the hospital lot,
with you, the ignition, the battery,
all at the point of despair.
My Arm & Hammer smile offering a lift.
Hand, clean and red,
on the car door
“Help yourself to some of my OJ”
Ketamine bottle in my purse.
In the trunk,
distributor wires, carrycot,
sterile sheets, alcohol, scalpel.
Derek Adams is a photographer, poet, poetry promoter and sometimes writer of short stories.