by Rebecca Jane
Re-deployed troops, the expecting woman cries for you. Warmonger politicians, the woman carrying the unborn child weeps every time you cast a vote. CO2 emissions, the woman with the ballooning womb snivels wherever you leak. Trash strewn on the stairs of the subway entrance at 34th Street and 7th Avenue, you make a pregnant woman howl with grief. And when Mommy-to-be overheard the national public radio broadcasting its Spring Membership Drive in her right ear while the man on the street shouted "help feed the homeless" in her left ear, she whimpered then sobbed then wailed. If this knocked-up feme covert had a dollar for every tear she dropped, this pregnant woman would be able to fund the next winning president's campaign, the next Hollywood blockbuster film, and the next military occupations of all hot-blooded and undemocratic planets in the universe!
Rebecca Jane, author of Spoken Like an Ancient, writes fiction to stay out of trouble. She always grins. She sometimes fails. She never squeals.