(a riff on Ovid, Amores II:XIV)
We send men to war so women can be safe --
And then they go and sit on spikes,
Scrape out their wombs and stain our empty beds.
And for what -- fear of a few stretch marks?
Corinna, darling, you've been spared.
Don't be so foolish a second time.
(And tell me, sweetheart: was it even mine?)
________
This is part of my continuing quest to make Ovid look bad. For set up, see "A Prayer for My Foolish Corinna."
Whoa! I need to do some rereading...