Because We Are Too Many
It’s not necessary, he said.
We don’t need that in our lives.
And he closed the door of the car,
Imprints of pollen,
Yellow finger tips.
Inside the leather sweated,
Skin sticking to the seat.
Outside there is no air,
Just suffocating heat.
What makes you think,
That it’s ‘something we should have.’
Just another gadget, another gizmo,
One more thing to have that your friends don’t.
His sandals scuffed against the gravel,
Concrete, gravel, of the driveway.
There’s too many as it is!
Too many in the world!
So he keeps me in constant supply:
condoms and microgynon.
- Bethany Anderson
|Bethany Anderson lives in Edinburgh where she works full time at a supermarket, scribbling poems on the back of till receipts. She blogs at subtlemelodrama.com.|