She was young, fifteen,
in ragged jeans and a faded sweat shirt
a wisp of a girl
Crying, crying
He was tall and buff
a taut t-shirt stretched over well-defined muscles
a sturdy tree, standing impassively
She loved him, her heart fluttering when he was near
He could care less, her body his only interest
They talked beneath a large oak,
its arms covering them in shadow
a darkness that would never see the dawn
But it’s yours too
I don’t want it, he said
It’s nothing to me
a zero in the history of his existence
Crying, crying
The coat hanger was red
coated with the blood of her life
She was white, waxen in her death,
robbed of her right to breathe
No doctor, no hospital, no fetus, no life
nobody to cry for her
She deserved to die, said the righteous right
Her body the temple of God, only rented on earth
So what if she was too young to raise a child
So what if the babe would be a sickly, hungry it
So what if she was robbed of choice
And the boy goes free
After all, she could have said no
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