TO LOSS

I fear getting things,

For I always lose.

At three, I got a doll,

With blue eyes, stubby nose,

A little friend played with it

Till into nothing it disappeared.

At seven, I got a kitten,

Two ruffians next door,

    Killed it with sticks, stones

And a red spade.

At twenty, I got a man

Who helped me conceive a life

In my cursed genitals

Three days later I bled
Lost the life and the man too.

Now at sixty, I wait

In fear of losing my breath.

        

This was certified good by my toughest critic, my father. It was published in the anthology “In Celebration” and in "Literary Explorer"

ANUSHA.U.R.

15 yrs