OBGYNius

I am a lamb alive on a spit,
roasting with each foot in its respective stirrup
This paper hospital gown covers nothing.
Not that it matters anyway; we're far past a point of discretion
and I'm supposed to be alright with that.

It's not like the thought of a doctor examining my genitals freaks me out
It's just that she
Takes so long to walk in the door
and insists on making nonchalant small talk
though mine seeps through clenched teeth like a sieve

THE WEATHER'S FUCKING GREAT ISN'T IT

I tell her I want to be a journalist
And she,
peering deep into my pussy,
says
Yeah,  I could see you on tv.