Poems by Beedoo!

To Dr. Nickel-Louse

It's me, you Prozac wielding
sweatlick. I'll put you
in the water supply!
You quack like
my back. Look at my spine...
a polluted old curse.
Do you know what
a brain tumor even
looks like?
like an egg
with pigsgills.
But you don't give
a misdiagnosed damn.
(it must be stress,
happens to lots of women)
They put me
in a closet
and stone my wrist numb
then a needle stick (owie) probe
around without a vein
and shoot rainbows
up my nose when I tilt
my head back in
the Grand Canyon
for a bottle for a dehydrated
dead arm
shooting seaturtles
up my veins you're just like
the last rat bastard
misdiagnosed me
who wanted
to try my scoliosis
though I was full up pregnant
with a cyst like an orange--
(I'm writing you
a prescription for an
antidepressant)— you can't do this,
I'm damaged for life!
Shimata!
You think you can get away
in your white Dr's jersey
from this sterile room needle drip --
Is that your fault too? (I think
it's wonderful stuff) with your
misfit pronunciation
-- rattle rattle --
that nurse, she knows
everything in my blood folder
the ins and outs
the needles poke in my
once-pale-now-tortiseshell skin
(I think it should be in the water supply)You can't leave now,
my pretties, not
while I have your spleen—
we'll have sausages later, and
clipboards make nice plates --
I'm sore, you
girl
dissecting
freak.
Someone'll talk
behind your duck-beak back
-- it's me! I am stone,
watch me, watch my
sister eyes of famine.
Watch me sneak --here kitty kitty—
up behind and
push you right in.
Malpractice, why?
You'll die someday too.
Good for me! I'll make it
comforting,
wet, slick
and sink you like stone
‘til you just dissolve away
like a milligram Prozac pill.
Then let's see your diagnosis.

B!'s Poetry---Main