In the antiseptic florescent floodlight he was born
behind the blue surgical blind in the likeness of his
famous father where the pediatric pamperers
posed with a set of stainless steel utensils to urge
him out of his own private Idaho~
his own little amniotic coma against those
that strove to combat his crucible
There he was with his miniature matchstick
fingers and toes cold wide awake and wondering
what the forceps was going on
His first gulp of air begged for mercy to burn
away the blinding pain his blinking orbs felt
and it would be a few minutes before they could
send messages into his offended little onion head
that everything would be alright as he tried to
recognize which one of these faces looking down
on him belonged to the god of food and safety

Written by Sara Fielder © July 2015