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Hell Poem

by: Gregory Sherl

I birth alcohol.
I birth birth & try to give it back.
I birth stillborns, don’t even ask why.
I birth Prozac so you can be just sad enough to
keep going.
You’re welcome.

I birth Hell & turn the heater all the way up.
I birth the viciousness in her ex-boyfriends.
I birth their hands around her neck, their fisted
welts.
I birth her always swallowing.
I birth welted fists fused to lumberjacks.
I birth concealer.
I birth a second Hell in case the first one fills up.
I birth sweaty hands, bad cell phone reception,
Detroit.
I birth anger management classes with no sign-in sheet.
I birth a cloud that will never look like anything else.
It won’t even really know how to look like a cloud.