Down Mexico Way

She wanted to be a mother —
The final touch —
Towards their picture of domestic bliss
They failed, though, the audition
For adoption
What can I do he thought
To keep the peace
What can I do he thought
To keep her in one piece?
A baby, it seemed, could be a solution
She couldn’t have a baby though
He reached into his briefcase
And prepared to write a cheque
To some unknown girl
Living a hundred miles away
He’d simply seen an advert
Saying womb for sale…
It didn’t matter that much
About her background
As long as she could provide
The means
For birth:
The baby born, the cheque signed
The baby delivered…
Problem solved