No More Babies For You

As I raised up

Got up from my seat

On my luxury airline cruiser

I walked up the narrow alley

Between the rows of sun-burnt travelers

Old folks with sorry ass peanuts and bearded women

Sunflower hats and greying eyeballs

Seeing the sun glare across the left wing into my iris

And on the right bolts of lightning flashing in my path

Igniting the flame of my actions

About to become real and in memory

I walked up to her

The flight attendant ahead

In front of the plane near the cock-pit

She stands there as if she awaits my pleasant surprise

She stands in her corporate uniform

I go straight to her

And slam my mother fuckin fist right in her

Deep into her ovaries

Below her chest

Right there

And in my devil language

In my yells of horror

And red glow of death, I yell,

“NO MORE FUCKIN BABIES FOR YOU!!”

Fearless and trembling in tension

Like a roaring animal full of disease and plague

I take my tough macho bad ass mother fuckin punching baby self

Back to my seat and enjoy my ride

Quietly

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.11.23.01:20:08@296NYC

99.12.02.22:09:45@296NYC