Weak Tea

First world white woman guilt
Is what initially bleats up
To the surface of my busy brain
When overtly opinionated
Right wing boat shoe wearing
Short back and sides
Old school tie for the rowing club dinner
Types tell me that terminating a pregnancy
Is the Easy Way Out
The capital letters are audible
Despite the rounded vowels
Soaked in twelve year old
Scotch and soda
Hold the twist if you don't mind boy
But the guilt is quickly booted aside by frustration
I am confounded by their pomposity
How dare they assume abortion is easy?
They are not female
They are not feeling their breasts swell daily
Their hips creaking, adjusting to make room
For a gently expanding womb
They are not suddenly sickened
By previously inoffensive aromas
Or tastes, or words, or images
They are not in a swirling ocean
Of choices to be made
Of decisions about
What will be the Right Thing To Do
While crying at the slightest nudge
And only able to stomach weak tea
Salt and vinegar crisps
And broccoli
And wanting to nurture an embryo
Until it's a healthful foetus
But are not well enough to do so
And wishing they were older
And fitter
And didn't have multiple illnesses
Which push them to the brink of
Mental and physical cliffs
With frightening monotony
Wishing they could bring this life forth
And feed it until it glows with happiness
These men live elsewhere
They are not poor and alone
Wishing they had a Proper Husband
Or a Real Job
Or at least a watertight house
And enough money for the gas bill
While they try to piece their life together
After it was ripped apart by rape
Ruin and tragedy
And they're glad to get through
One day without having a panic attack
These men are from another world
Where their class is their life jacket
And they will never understand
Why we don't listen to them
Best to leave them be
In their fairytale houses
And think for ourselves instead