Not Now, Biology
Not now, biology.
I have no need for screams
right now. I want no jolts
from dreams in early morning.
I want no diminutive innocents
trailing behind my thick, brown thighs.
No filth furrowed in deceptively
white plastic-coated kerchiefs.
Leave me be.
I want rest and irresponsibility.
Tick. Tock. I hear you already,
aging ovule odometer. In the depths
of four a.m., I hear you. You invade
my dreams. I have hallucinations
of mobile wind-chimes, chimerical
tinkling of an offspring’s future
aural desire. Coos coolly ricochet
across nocturnal membranes.
Let me alone.
I wish my mother matrix
to remain blameless.