poem #2

Ode to Bailey
 
ODE TO BAILEY
 
Home, hearth, a piecemeal Jacuzzi,
and Harry Potter DVDs playing ceaselessly,
preludes to the first mewls;
Mom and me sit in tub or on toilet,
listening to the midwife impatiently:
Push, push, push a little more
 
Eighteen hours’ labor and no son:
Speed to the OR, to epidural injections,
a C-section—wifey on the table, scalpel
at her navel, belly bronzed, legs splayed,
a turkey; the anesthesiologists say
Does that feel cold? Does it pinch?
 
A grand entrance: bloody glory,
eight pounds, six screaming at me,
expanding cat-sized lungs; the brunette nurse
lets me cut the umbilical that was already cut;
the blond nurse prays; Bailey lays on his mother,
And like he was born to, takes her breast.
 
 – Thomas McCafferty
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