Sick
A poem assuming a social versus a medical cause for mental upset.
Sick*
One day, on my way to the market for bread,
I found a scrap of paper . . . that read:
“Question: ‘How do you keep a deaf girl from telling after you’ve raped her?’
Answer: ‘Break all her fingers.’”
Suddenly, my gut . . . began to churn.
And with a fever . . . I began to burn.
For bad enough . . . were it writ† by a man.
But the signer of the joke . . . was “Nan.”
I saw a doctor . . . for my consternation.
He wants to give me . . . medication.
But it’ll take more than a pill . . .
To cure this ill.
*First published on MindFreedom.org, October, 2008.
†Written.
Copyright ©2008, 2009 by Liz Purcell.


