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
A middle-aged man sits next to me,
The other numerous empty chairs look on
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
'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.