Tidying my room at last, I found,
Amidst the empty cans, which left a reek,
And dusty books, the fading ultrasound
That she had sent me of the twentieth week.
I took the cans and threw them in a sack,
They’ll be recycled when I pass the bin,
I dusted off the books and put them back
Upon the dusted shelves, their words within.
So in my hand was left this dusty frame;
This photo that she’d said was of my child,
Before the birth, before we chose a name,
Before the DNA test made me wild.
I didn’t clean the frame, but damned my trust,
And threw it to the floor for further dust.
Sean Godley
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ultrasound/
