ISSN: 1094-2726
Pif Magazine
PMB 248
4820 Yelm Hwy SE
Suite B
Lacey, WA
98503-4903
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Side effects? None. Well, not exactly;
A little fatigue, some hysterical spells,
But women are notoriously unstable -
Who's to say the chemical's the cause?
Anyway, I have to thank the clinic
For my brand-new tits. They grow, you know,
Inflate like two balloons and what do you know
I'm stacked, I'm a Playboy cartoon, the American dream.
Pain? Well, yes, they're still a little sore
But that's supposed to go away in a month
Or maybe two. Just look don't touch;
The nipple hardens in dismay and I recoil.
Oh, I've given over my ovaries to the GYN,
They tell me what to do with them. I'm regulated,
I'm a calendar girl. Predict with stunning
Accuracy when the blood comes. It's all calculated.
I'm clockwork now, beating back the babies
With a well-timed tilt of the head and
Swallow every twenty-four hours.
I'm as barren as a barbie doll.
So much trust to put in these tiny circles,
Smaller than a fingernail, white as chalk.
It seems like magic. Mass-produced
By factories and whitecoat mister doctors,
They run me. All l had to do was ahh
Open my legs then open my mouth for confirmation.
It's my new religion: I put my faith in the corporation,
And I'm blessed with an empty womb, vacant miracle.
It's perfect, the ease of medicating life's
Process with a pill and a smile bright as toothpaste.
Watch me: nature does not own me.
I sold my contract. The laboratory
Moves into my bureau, cool observer.
And monthly I receive my brand new ration,
Tear the foil packet open; It's my privilege.
It's my choice. I'm addicted to science.
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Ellia Bisker grew up in New Rochelle, New York, and now attends Vassar College as a sohpomore and English major. Her poetry has been published in
Binnewater Tides, Helicon and Opus. She has been the featured
performer at poetry readings in Poughkeepsie and New York City. At present
she is interested in going into journalism after college, but all plans are
subject to change.
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