At the Charity Event by John Grey


I was the only man at the table.
The conversation turned to babies
and I became the only alien as well.

For the talk wasn’t about
the cute bundles of flesh
even someone like me
can hug to my breast
but a series of delivery war stories.

One was on that Normandy Beach
of an operating room
for twelve hours.
Another screamed at the doctor
to cut it out of her stomach that very minute.
A third had more false starts
than the Olympic sprints.
Each and every one of them
concluding by saying
that the pain was worth it
though none sounded convincing.

The more they spoke,
the more they made me feel
the absence of a womb inside me.
I wondered if we were even the same species.
They could grow full-formed human beings.
My inner workings could never even sprout a dandelion.

At the end, I thanked them for having me.
I felt them sigh…
if only it were that simple.

©2019 John Grey


Follow John


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dunes Review, Poetry East and North Dakota Quarterly with work upcoming in Haight-Ashbury Literary Journal, Thin Air, Dalhousie Review and Failbetter.


Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.