Pocket Breath Poems

Mission not very smooth.

God threw rain at us

Hounding us at the lights

Tempting my forced smiles

Into sideways traffic swipes

--

The car was catapiller green.

Green tourists in search of

A park.

And a backstreet with no back door.

--

Something whispered should we be shamed .

How rude to say.

--

**Two blondes get out of a caterpillar green car

and walk into an abortion clinic in a catholic city.

One blonde hopes if she keeps feeding the meter,

that they will be invisible.

They aren't.**

--

'You okay to do this? does it still feel right?'

--

You nodded; eyes, icy blue.

--

Despite all the late night wine, early afternoon coffee,

and sushi boats spent,

Discussing and affirming

How it's your right to choose.

I want you to know it Is and always

Will be soley up to you.

--

But you don't need that pointed out again.

--

Secretly I'm glad there are no picketeers.

Maybe they couldn't find a park either.

--

The waiting room smells of chlorine and empanadillas,

and a village of woman has settled on one side.

I recognise clothes bought at the weekend markets,

Clothes the younger ones will put aside when they go to study in the city.

Long flared sleeves, chest cut outs and laced corners.

Tight fitting torsos with flowers, stylised along the boarders.

--

Its a family affair.

Aunts, mothers, sisters, cousins huddle and talk,

and coo,

To the baby in arms.

Who thought to bring you?

--

Blue eyes meet mine.

Seems god is around still, working overtime.

--

I think of your sister,

staying at home

Her own wee burden well loved and cherished -

A mistake you refuse

to repeat,

A weakness you see,

Daily by your parents