Glass (Crank 2)

here, poked there, manipulated

internal organs, assessing any damage;

and finally, like the act could be a gift,

checking mammary glands for signs

of blockage. [Whose gift—his or mine?]

Nope, I didn’t exactly hurry in for that.

Too late now. [Hopefully not too, too late.]

Shut up. I can’t be pregnant because I won’t

be pregnant. There, I’ve made up my mind.

But Lying Here

Next to Trey, who has somehow

managed to attain sleep on our

last night together, possibility

piles on possibility.

Possibly,

I’m pregnant.

Possibly,

I’ve damaged the baby.

Possibly,

I will choose to abort.

Possibly,

Trey won’t support me,

won’t even come back to me.

Possibly,

he’ll settle down with the pretty

girl in Stockton.

Possibly,

he’ll settle down with some

other pretty girl in Stockton.

Probably,