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Dying In a Bucket

A mere carrying never makes a mother. A gynecologist observes soft feminine rhythms on a monitor. Currency conceals compassion. Hospital sweeper carries remnants of a plastic love in his black bucket. His squint-eyes are conditioned. Pulses pause unnoticed in the bucket. Just two hundred rupees bury his conscience. He seeks shelter in a dark arrack bottle. It’s a cold-blooded secret that people seem not to see. Abortion is an accepted murder. First printed in issue #16 of The Literary Hatchet(Pear Tree Press, US)

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Beata Agustin

Date: 7/22/2023 5:24:00 AM

Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Meanwhile, I greet you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.