WARNING NOTE: Not sure that any MEN reading this will be able to identify. Maybe this is just for the gals - guys are welcome to read on, but don't blame me if you wish you hadn't ...
It's a poem about what it's like to have a MAMMOGRAM.
(A fellow-tweeter asked to see it after I told her I'd written a poem on this subject.)
Here 'tis Ali:
'hit me with your best shot'
Seeing as it’s my first scan she’s sympathetic,
to a degree, but has a job to do, criteria
to meet, good, clear shots are what's required
and they do not want to miss
even a shadow. She helps me
to stand, just so, to tilt my shoulder
and rest my right breast on the glass.
I think how much it looks like a fish
on a plate. The vice is applied
to just over the bearable-pain threshold.
She says she doesn’t really enjoy inflicting
so much pain; “Did you take a Panadol? ”
I told her I hadn't. After two shots
I think it’s over - silly me. “Two more”,
she says brightly, "Side-view this time”.
She suggests a cold cloth to relieve discomfort.
I remember my granny, the one
who carried a child with a broken arm
fifteen miles to the nearest doctor
and turn the offer down. Pioneer stock
has a lot to answer for. I look down. No,
I decide, not a fish a butterfly, in a case,
wings opened out and pressed
forever at screaming point.
Kay McKenzie Cooke