Afterbirth

-Afterbirth-
by
Keaton Foster



Gross
I know it
This poem
Afterbirth
Here goes it
The stuff left over
Kicked out the door
Washed from the floor
A stain to be removed
All purpose betrayed
Some people eat it
Sickening
Oh Jesus
Hippies and weirdos
Dietary nut jobs
Cannibals
On the down low
They should be
Lined up and shot
Well maybe not
After all
I’m sure to them
I’m the extremist
A realistic person
Having a human baby
In the safety of a hospital
And not in a Jacuzzi tub
At their Cousin Larry’s cabin
In the deep woods
Outside Parsippany
Can I get a
What about an "emergency!"
911 is of course for morons
And maladjusted tree huggers
I know what you’re thinking
And at this critical point
Throwing up in your mouth
Is indeed a viable option
Take a shot of jack
Ole number 7 always helps
Kick yourself in the ass
Punch yourself in the chops
Just do whatever it takes
To get on through
The next 36 plus lines
Judge and be judged
Poke and be prodded
Make mountains
Out of piles of shit
It’s all the same
21 and a half dozen
Of the other
Wait, what?
Afterbirth
Membrane spembrane
Placenta smenta
All of it is blood and guts
Bolts and matching nuts
A vessel of human life
Chemistry solely defined
As an unloved waste
Oh how I can relate
But that is another case
This poem is not about me
This poem is about afterbirth
Yup, you got it right
This poem is about what’s left
After life is created
And then regurgitated
Spit out from the womb
Kicked to the curb
Sent quickly packing
In tightly sealed red bags
Marked extreme biohazard
Funny how life
And thus its vessels
Is reduced to hazardous waste
To be properly dispose of
Hot flames always make
The bad go away
Now of course
Unless you are a hippie
A wannabe carnivorous crackpot
With an iron frying pan
And a shitload
Of Worcestershire sauce
Then to you
Bon appetite
Again yuck
Afterbirth
There I said it
And of course
I just wrote it…




Afterbirth
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014