The Little One

There’s a little guy somewhere,

Waiting to appear;

Curled up inside his mother’s

Protective atmosphere.

He’s the one they didn’t plan on,

He’s an extra mouth to feed,

a little inconvenience

Neither of them need.

He’s doctor’s bills and formula,

He’s sleepless nights and stress,

He's wet and dirty diapers,

And a home that is a mess.

He could have been a newer car

Or a cabin with a view,

Or a cruise or clothes or Vegas shows,

Or other dreams come true.

So they talked about abortion,

As the alternative,

For that fetal imposition,

Who would change the way they live.

“He isn’t really human,

Why, he doesn’t even breathe!”

He was just a misadventure,

They happened to conceive.

So they sit there in the waiting room,

With papers they must fill,

The waivers and consent forms,

And arrangements for the bill.

They know it’s what they have to do,

There is no other way.

But once or twice they wonder,

What that little guy might say.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,

I got too much to do.

I have to learn to walk and talk,

To dress and tie my shoes.”

“I have to learn to whistle,

And I have to learn to run.

I have to learn to say my prayers,

For when the day is done.”

“I have to watch for Daddy,

With Mommy at the door and,

I have to ride in carts when

You take me to the store.”

“I have to blow out candles

On a lot of birthday cakes,

And pose for all the pictures

Mommy always takes.”

“If you let them do this

I’ll never learn to wave.

I’ll never have a birthday

Why, I won’t even have a grave.”

“I’ll never play a game

And I’ll never laugh or cry

I won’t even have a name

And I’ll always wonder -why?”

Anonymous