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.

*Written.

Copyright © 2008 by Liz Purcell.