Saints and scientists tell us it's a boy.
The question is: What to name your baby?
Napoleon, Ned Kelly,
Richard III, Rasputin...
What if he's running an international spy ring in her belly?
What if he has gone undercover to escape from the bad guys?
What if he's hiding out from the good guys?
What if he's an alien life form that is controlling his mother's body?
What if he's part of the advance guard of an alien invasion force planning to take
over the world?
What if that's why he's always sleepwalking his mother to the fax machine in the
middle of the night?
What if that's why she presses pieces of blank paper to her belly and then sends
the strangely vibrating pages down the mouth of the fax machine to numbers she's
never heard of?
What if that's why she has strong cravings to swallow a portable telephone?
I also can't help wondering:
Whether or not he'll be disappointed by the world when he gets out.
Whether or not when he's president of the new republic he'll stage a coup d'etat
like Caesar and have the Senate proclaim him Emperor.
Whether or not he'll develop a taste for flesh, including human flesh.
Whether or not he'll be embarrassed by having parents.
Whether or not he'll solve the problem by selling them into slavery.
Whether or not he'll develop a new kind of weapon system that makes people
laugh themselves to death in any language.
Whether or not he'll tell the air to keep quiet while he breathes in and out the
atmosphere of the whole universe.
Whether or not he'll tell God to shove over, quit crowding him, He's cramping his
Whether or not he'll have the vision of Siddhartha, escape the expanding universe
of his ego, and spend the rest of his days mindfully painting the middle line on the
information super highway of life.
Exactly when will you stop harbouring all these illusions and start focusing on the
Exactly when will you realise that if you're human he must be too?
Exactly when did we find ourselves acting like parents?
Exactly when will we know we don't know what we're doing?
he's not even born yet and I am mortified that one day he will die
telling him what he can expect from life in the meantime will be painful
watching the mistakes, the numberless cruelties, thoughtlessnesses
I've heard people say they don't want to bring another life into this world
as if things were somehow worse now than they have been at any other time
but handing someone the human condition on a platter like the head of John the
that is a task
here it is, take it, make of it what you will
perhaps you'll make more of it than I did
take it with my love and sympathy
if all goes well, you will hand this strange gift on to another human being in the
with perhaps a little more understanding, a little more sympathy
(Sonnet from the unborn child)
This is my flying carpet
I'm looking for a place to land
I'm looking for a place to be born
Like a blind man in the fog
I will descend
Through rainbows without colours
So many questions
Tell them I don't have any answers
But I can't wait any longer
Tell them I'm coming in
And we'll work things out when I get there
Tell them I don't know who I am
But I'm coming ready or not