To A Parasite

       A letter to the editor in the Minneapolis Star Tribune of December 29th 2000 stated that a fetus is not a human being, but rather a parasite. Though that might seem shocking, and though it is obviously specious, it is a more common sentiment than one might think. I am thankful when someone is willing to be so vulnerably absurd, because it inspires me to give an answer. Thus, I dedicate this poem to the parasite man.

The news is grim
A growth is found
The implications are profound

A parasite
Its life enmeshed
Sits in her uterus infleshed

A bug, a force
A vicious virus
Clinging to her womb desirous

Living, sucking
Draining, eating
Stealing space-Its blob heart beating

A choice is hers
Some say a right
To flush this demon out of sight

Seeking freedom
In eugenics
She seeks the best of all the clinics

And in the sterile
White-washed room
She seeks to make her womb a tomb

But while there waiting
On the gurney
To make her final tandem journey

The stowaway
With prescience keen
Kicks her rudely in the spleen

Then stunned
Pensively she lingers
Stroking her stomach with her fingers

As if a chord
Were plucked within her
Resonating life-born timbre

"Baby...my baby"
Move her lips
Involuntarily she slips

Weeping, fleeing
Into the night
Saves she the life of her parasite

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