Pregnant Lady Be Ready

Strangers will stare.
They’ll hoot and holler
about ice cream for two,
insist on carting your bag,
and wonder
if you can do your job,
if so, how long and whether
you pass gas. They will know
you’ve had sex. They’ll picture
you having sex, your clothes off.
You, at this moment, can’t remember
if you just shoved your gown aside.
You remember how the wind shook
the windows. They will say your life
is never the same; you’ll never sleep again.
And then they’ll tell you they make pancakes
while thanking the good heavens their kid
didn’t mess his pants past five.
Strangers will lay hands on you.
They’ll point out
eye sockets and elbows,
show you shadows.
Like a gypsy in one story,
or fairies in another,
they will come
after your fate.