You men don’t know what we forego
when pregnancy ensues.
You moan and loan a chromosome.
We’re left to pay the dues.
For forty weeks, the father speaks
of the impending birth.
You feel the joy of girl or boy.
We feel unending girth.
You comfort me, but I just see
a patronizing smile.
My body creeks. My urine leaks.
You try this for a while!
My shape is shot. I cry a lot.
I wear a gunny sack.
I’ll persevere, but still I fear
my curves will not come back.
What once was taut, today is not.
What used to jut, now sags.
Be reconciled. It’s our last child,
or I will pack my bags!