Hors d’oevre

by Alma Christl Call

This baby could be a Christmas
sausage, swaddled in red,
by the round weight,
the two grandmothers
hungry for me to pee
the thick plastic wrapper,
slice and serve
on ritz with cheese.
A cocktail parry
in this birthing room.
Friends and family mingling,
dressed nicely, only
the hostess is naked
and bleeding. Everyone
loves the hors d'oevre.
They suck on its fingers,
say, "I could eat you up!"
And "Please pass the baby."
This baby, consumed
so quickly, seven minutes
old. What to serve
as the main course?
Perhaps placenta
or me. There's plenty.