Columns of a moistened hand

Cloisters my coat pocket and it spits back a piece of

Gum wrapper or for some reason, sand.


The peeling back of last year's perky

Housewives and last season's lipstick shade

Thrill me.


A middle-aged man sits next to me,

The other numerous empty chairs look on

Cackling gleefully.

My immunity shrinks as the man coughs and

Splutters so sweetly into my ear.


'Jennifer Pope?' Is called, and my android

Flits away from my cloudy-germ spot.


I sit and stare at the box counterpart of a brain

As this physician leans back on his

Medical degree.


'What seems to be the problem then Jennifer?'


I feel my body do the equivilent of an emphatic

Eye roll, this genius is a saviour.


'I think I may have Cystitis.'


My ovaries cringe and my bladder nods

In shameful agreement.

His roaming sight carriages flicker

To my nethers and back.


'How much does it sting when you wee?'


My lungs deflate. My heart leaps at the charm and

Sensitivity of the blessed fellow.

I indicate the amount with the length of my



'Severe bacterial Cystitis can stem from too much vigorous sexual activity. Did you know that?'

He gesticulated with his fingers to aid his heavenly words.


My reproductive organs wept as his cheshire cat grin

Disturbed my frenzied heart bounce.


It's times like these that the fermenting

Jewel that I am remembers why I

Simply rejoice in my doctor's quivering

Moustache and flitting eyebeams.

The End

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