Wishes for MY son (and most other men out there)

I absolutely loved Clifton's poem, "wishes for sons".  I laughed out loud several times and loved how she juxtaposed the skirt destroying week early surprise period as the worst day ever, with the horrible fear that comes when you are one week late and not prepared to be!  Clifton takes the suffering and aggravation that are menstruation, and for that matter, actually just being born female, and slaps the reader right in the face with it sparing none.  For example, when she wishes "...hot flashes and clots like you wouldn't believe" on her son, I am sure most readers cringed with the visual she paints of clots, but I loved it!  Clifton makes sure that everyone now gets to have experience in what I term "mentalpause" because it jacks up EVERYTHING in your body and she mentions some of the woes that come with it. She takes insomnia, night sweats, mood swings and everyone's favorite game, when will it start, and masterfully and humorously paints a picture to remind her son (and let's face it, all men) how lucky he is to not have to deal with the mess.  What I loved the most however, were the last two lines which hit home so deeply and made me howl with laughter.  I cannot think of many things that are more humbling than going to the gynecologist and trying to make small talk on the table of torture.  She reminds her son that while he may think that he has accepted all the universe has to dish out, he will never understand how humiliating life can be until he takes a turn on that table or winds up with a skirt designed by Rorschach!  I LOVE Clifton's work and in homage to her will now break into my favorite song,  titled "I want a hysterectomy for Christmas", because really, who wants a hippopotamus anyway?