Once you attain the sixth decade of life—
A phase in which health concerns often are rife—
You must swallow your pride, along with a potion
Designed to keep bowels in perpetual motion.
You prep for a test, as if back in school,
But this time no pencils, and only one rule:
You must void the coils that hold inner waste,
‘Til nothing remains but the challenge you faced.
The next part is simple; it’s out of your hands
(And into your bottom, the stark truth demands).
A doctor appears and, while wielding a hose,
Will address all the details of comfort and pose.
You’ll awaken refreshed, with nary a polyp,
Relieved to escape any threat of a wallop
From insidious cancer that ruins your guts.
This tack is much safer.
No ifs, ands… Just butts.
(Dare I write “The End”?)
-Christine Hensel Triantos
