Armchair Diagnosis
I had a woman sitting beside me
with an ignorant self-esteem,
determined to cure me,
dying to play doctor.
…
The internet says no acidity,
she backed it with her financial degree
—sometime in 1970.
…
Not with a medical chart,
or the pokes and prods—
not with the seven years
for a proper diagnosis.
…
I have a cousin with the same thing,
as if that thing
wasn’t anything.
But I have Crohn’s Disease
…
where my intestines bleed
[I’ve tried…believe me…]
I ate your so-called cure salad.
…
Yet, everyone wants a say,
be the expert of the day,
when the disease belongs
to someone else.
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What a tightly written poem of “capital T” Truth.
Perfect punch at the end.
I admire rhyme masters. Wow.