Free
The night before she stuck a coat hanger
up her vagina, a baby only heartbeats old
in her belly, we went to the school dance,
drank Night Train in skin-baring
look
but don't touch
K-Mart cheap dresses.
Our lives still roared ahead of us
that free-love sixties summer.
She didn't say then she was pregnant,
was too proud to say he'd moved on
to another soft-hipped sexy girl,
didn't mention she knew he was already
leaving more wriggling orphans
to gush red down some other
desperate leg in the dark.
Pris Campbell
©2006
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