| Humor Poetry
posted April 19, 2016
...8 9 -10-
a visit to the gynecologist
A chapter in the book Euthanasia Betty: An Anthology
My Atrophied Vagina
The wiseacre doctor with his genteel-infused grin
placed his latex-gloved hand into my vagina.
He and his brightly animated nurse bent
closer to my spread monument of legs,
inert feet stuck puppet-like in stirrups,
awaiting the forced entry of the mechanical
intruder unequipped for foreplay.
My sticky body trapped within crumpled
folds of paper, made to hide my nakedness
from the pristine decorum of the room.
He waved his skeletal arm in the suffocating air,
"Your cervix has atrophied," he stated, as if
everyday a woman hears she is sexually disappearing.
"You're right on course, my dear."
He indicated with a dismissive slight-of-hand
my naked exhibition was over.
We reconnoitered in his invasive office
with a hanging human skeleton,
scents of other women mingled with
his various ointments and aftershave.
His darting glance spoke like an embarrassed lover
who sees his latest conquest clothed for the last time.
He smiled and shook my hand
while I thought dazedly how my
vagina must resemble a rose
plucked fervently from its growth--
left disregarded in its clunky vase.
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