A botched abortion and the whole world bleeds.
Or so it seemed to the doctor
who didn't want to do it in the first place.

He had panicked when she died on the table.
So much blood he could not tell
the fetus from the woman.

So he kept on cutting, delivering
decisive strikes to the chest, finding that
the buzz saw carried from the shed worked best.

How hard was her skull.
how quickly did he gather bag and drag
the parts to the kitchen sink.

How does one stuff chunks of flesh
and length of bone down a long steel drain
where thin edged blades

spinning like the law
that brought him to this madness
grind the matter down to soft pink pulp.

The earth, he prays, will heal this wound in silence.
He turns on the tap, washes the woman away.