Posted by beardedlady on May 11, 2002, at 12:19:35
In reply to Re: ode to my colon, posted by Phil on May 11, 2002, at 11:07:42
This would be a poem, but, because of the last line, it's humor.
They don't make you drink fleet enemas anymore. You drink a gallon of worse tasting stuff, and then you GIVE yourself TWO fleet enemas in a row.
Doc says he is not worried about the C word. Appointment on Thursday, so I'll find out the deal with the tummy. Will also have to have regular colonoscopies. Lovely.
Here's the poem. Shar's in it.
-----wait ‘til fifty
Shar says to wait
til the tell-tale lines appear
til the birdies leave the nest
til you’ve lived half a century.kill yourself when you are well,
she says--not in throes of blue funk,
not sick with grief or guilt--
and fifty, at least fifty.and wait til fifty for the snake,
the rectum tube that wends
its way through intestinal mile,
snapping photos and clipping polyps.wait til fifty for the endless drink,
the syrupy salted water in your fridge,
the magic jug that, once you’ve drunk
half, never moves beyond that line,but recycles itself, becomes more,
multiplies, volumizes, betrays.
yes wait til fifty to drink the drink.
or surely you will kill yourself.lfm (aka beardedlady)
poster:beardedlady
thread:23547
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20020509/msgs/23568.html