PoetryEtc Featured Poet: Liz Kirby

Heave the strain and grunt my lovely baby.
Here he comes sweet spittoon, little breather,
this is the last push that shoves him out.
No warm water to wrap him round
scouring air comes straight to nakedness.
I want to stretch my skin in front of his
tender squirmy one. My boy my baby.
I want to cradle him. The first time
he turned away it was into the blood and shit
of a split perineum. Grainy slick
how I stroked him and murmured

tutted to see the circlet of bruises
where my inner muscles had bitten his head.