Poem #24 of 365: The Little Death

Cold coffee spills
on my lap,
waking up
my unborn children
from their nap,
who'll never see
the light of day
or Life beyond
a hungry throat,
clinging onto
the back
of a pierced tongue
waiting for
a second swallow,
a third
and fourth
swallow
where gastric acids
will disintegrate them
and life will continue
for everyone
but me.