DON’T ASK

I cannot understand my weight

It’s bouncing like a ball

Though you’d think with all me missing bits

I’d not weigh much at all.

Cos I lost my gall stones years ago

They’re sitting in a jar

So I haven’t really lost them

I know just where they are.

And since my hysterectomy

I don’t get that PMT

Piling on the kilos

On P-day minus three.

My husband’s quite relieved at that

It wasn’t me that suffered

But since my womb went westward

Me hormones all are buggered.

When everyone is freezing

I’m sweating like a horse

So in flimsy T-shirt weather,

I’m shivering, of course.

If you are having Crohn’s disease

Or IBS and that

I’ve had a colonectomy

We can have a little chat.

It would appear my brain as well

Is missing little bits

Which explains my wobbly eyesight,

Confusion and slight fits.

The only thing that hurts me now

Is a case of Athlete’s Tit

(it’s similar to Athlete’s Foot

but further north a bit)

I’m going into hospital

Which will make a nice change

Though I’m in and out so regularly

I know the staff by name.

So I dedicate this poem

To my heroine, dear Pam

Ms Ayres – you know, on radio.

Just – don’t ask how I am.


13 thoughts on “DON’T ASK

    1. Hmmm – might do, but can’t guarantee head or eyes working for 30 consecutive days. Tempting though – even if I have to resort to limericks. There once was a book-reading Ape….

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