For the Dead Children of Poor Mothers

It's cheaper
To die
In the first bed
They put you in
Than to
Heal you of the Earthly
Maladies bestowed upon
Our fragile, rickety bodies
The second they decide
That it's time for you to emerge
Flesh from the flesh of your mother's

Abortion is a travesty
A selfish act committed
By selfish women
Or so they say
It's really funny actually
How they cherish
Your unborn heart
And brain
But once you're removed
From the dark womb
Into that dark room
They say
"Let 'em die."
Because your poor mother
Didn't have enough
Change swirling around
Her shallow pocketbook