I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
      interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic
      polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
      hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
      models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
      Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
      before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken.
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
      nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
      future existence.

You won't like
Your colonoscopy,
I know,
I've not liked mine.
It's invasive,
You're contorted,
And the Prep
Is too unkind.
Yet,
One needs
A **** snoop
In the
Intestine.
It postpones
Eternity,
That makes it
Worth your time.

You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!

Have you ever prepped for a colonoscopy?
That's what I get to do today.
It means no solid food for me;
Clear broth will be my entrée.

I get to drink as much water
And juice as I want; but there's a catch:
The constant need of a toilet nearby--
A slight downside to "Down the hatch!"

Another rule: I must not let
Anything RED pass through my mouth.
Apparently, red things tend to
Cause confusion…well…down "south."

When passing by the bakery window
Where freshly-baked sweets are lying,
I know it will be torture for me
To hear my stomach growling and crying.

I do get to eat popsicles--
That is, as long as they aren't red.
Maybe I can just pretend
That they're tacos or pizza instead.

I have to STOP thinking about food.
I know my hunger pains won't last
Forever, and I can always say
I'm on a liquid and popsicle fast.

When the real clean-out starts
Later in the afternoon,
That's when the fun REALLY begins!
Help! I want this over soon!

I will spare you those details.
Just know that more adventures follow.
I'll be relieved after this prep
And my trip to the surgery center tomorrow.

(But let me warn you: I really don't
Mean to freak you out, but
Don't worry if it feels as though
You're peeing out of your you-know-what!)

The actual procedure is not that bad--
Once I get through today and tonight.
I won't feel or remember a thing;
Hopefully, I'll be out like a light.

The doctor is also performing an upper
G.I. endoscopy. I strongly hope
That when he does it, he is certain
That he's using a different scope.

Too much information? Maybe.
But if you've never done this, you
At least know all the wonderful things
You have to look forward to.

- by Bob B

I went to the hospital and they said they were going to shove a camera up my ***.
I told them that I didn't want that to happen, I told them that I was going to pass.
But they said it was too late because I'd already signed the papers that allowed them to treat me.
But I didn't want a camera up my ***, I would've rather that they used baseball bats to beat me.
They shoved the camera up my *** and it went in deep.
It really hurt because the idiots forgot to put me to sleep.
I cussed those ******* out and they said that they didn't like my attitude.
But they disliked it even more when they had to pay me two million bucks after I sued.

revisited January 23rd, 2024
on the evening before yours truly
(the one and only Matthew Scott Harris),
a stand up comic wannabe, who
historically heartily hales
from Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
undergoes oh joy rapture colonoscopy.

Three days before that first appointment
with estimable gastroenterologist
Doctor Kellen Karl Kovalovich
regarding upcoming procedure
scheduled for August 17th, 2022),
unfortunately yielded inconclusive results
meaning the excretory material
not satisfactorily expelled.

Though necessary to swallow
four Dulcolax laxative tablets,
plus additionally quaff half
238 gram bottle of Miralax
over span of eight hours,
and if necessary
even apply one Fleets
(or store brand) Enema.

Ideally Vaseline ought be applied
to the enema tip to avoid abrading
sensitive skin surfaces.

The missus located lubricating fluid
she purchased Trojan lubricants
Continuance Essence at Adult World
when a clearance sale
at said store took place.

As a more effective modus operandi
aforenamed said specialist
strongly advised taking Su-prep
in place of Miralax, which  
two step process already begun
earlier today, which
date mentioned in first line.

I grudgingly accept short lived
lower abdominal discomfort
linkedin with gushing watery stools
analogous to reasonable and tolerable
assault upon me derriere
considerably less severe than shigella
tube be worth knowing
nada worry colon cancer
would pose grave threat.

I remembered first colonoscopy
specialist named Larry Borowsky
located 525 Jamestown Ave. #101,
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(challenged courtesy hearing difficulty,
hence he wore an auditory device)
treated me some half dozen plus years ago,
yours truly didst solidly waste,
rather subsequently spent
a few hours writing, toil letting,
and crafting the following bupkis
slightly modified to correspond
with present modus operandi treatment.

Ask any devotee  
of above named gastroenterologists
officious military licensed cheeky knucklers,
ne’er kissed gluteus maximus,
they soldiered thru medical school
despite getting pooped out
rigorous regimen now both know
vital details regarding bowels of human
excretory system, which iz alimentary
and familiar flickering

sleight of hand linkedin
quicken wrist zooms into grab bag
of medicinal tricks - mimics
waving magic wand bitta bang
prestidigitation abracadabra
of **** scope brings – dang
gustatory scenic aerated holy smoker
of a ******, a wasteland fang
less, but the backside seat,
where ****** berries

and/or polyps sometimes hang,
whence undergoing this
behind the scenes procedure
where smelly silent sonnets
from sphincter sprang
most times flatulence
relieved in private place
but, post-op probe
forced air into buttucks,  
thus encourage patients

to aerate sterile space
otherwise known as passing gas
scrutinized faces elicit embarrassment
of elderly folks,
who feel self conscious farting in public
before departing from human race,
rearing specialist unheralded doctors
relieves anguish without a trace
which gratitude spurred
****** attempt to compose verse

to express appreciation
clean bill of health and disperse
anticipatory anxiety, this pooper trooper
endured with pseudo “nurse”
actually mine wife, who nudged me
to undergo examination
lest she bare witness
becoming a widow
following mine hearse
if hypothetical demise did pass,

deceased would hear loud curse
analogous to unstoppable enema,
(brought out from downed colyte
consumed for first colonoscopy)
expletives interspersed with my name
exhibiting master card
shark cunning never forgiving
nor forgetting how we happened
to be broke nearly the entire
coup d’état of marriage –  

reaching cheeky **** pinching
catatonic state die n rapport,
this generic guy saved
from premature death viz ace sing  
examination positive outcome tantamount
with flying colors – at least now,
our two grown darling daughters can
(in ****** dooby doo doo time), perhaps
if/when they beget
their own children witness longevity

courtesy of exemplary doctors
Kellen Karl Kovalovich,
and/or Larry Borowsky,
whose honed trained hands and eyes
adept to scout out and ticket
suspicious cellular demons,
aim of innocuous microbes
to destroy e pluribus unum alone!

Not sure if this would be consider taboo
To even mention the view
Did I just hear her say the word touche
When the doctor proceeded to do what she had to do

With stage crew and camara in hand
Filming what little dignity I have left
Are the tapes rolling, I may need consoling
When this crazy trip finds somewhere to land

Do I even need to mention the day before
Pills and laxatives by the score
To clean out my innards must be least 10 pounds thinner
Need I say anything anymore

Back to the uncomfortable crowd
You can hear a pin drop at the sound
For them it's routine, for me a dastardly deed
Could someone please send in the clowns

Adding a touch of savoir faire
Excuse me, is there enough room in there
If things get a bit tight make sure the pliers are sanitize
Anyone up for a game of truth or dare

Doesn't get anymore personal than this
Best friends now without even a kiss
Operation at 7 film at 11
To be viewed YouTube via Internet

precipitation's anticipation of change
diffused morning light
the mustiness of first rain
a misty visibility hiding distant hills
a graying of the cityscape
skyscrapers in clouds
construction's crane quieted
in the mix of old and new
a slow rush hour
washing the street's grime
a coolness to my eyes
a slight chill in my bones
Autumn colored leaves swaying with breeze
on half empty trees
slanted raindrops incessantly blustering
a beautiful day
where only seagulls dare to fly

eight peeping eyes with healing hands
too good to help her to the restroom
"I'll call a nurse"
they just poked in to take a peek
feel her leg's edema
and inform me of possibility's progress
a colonoscopy?
a transfusion?
time keeps asking for more time
morning meds
an IV
a blood draw
a blood test strip
another trip to the restroom
a kind older gentleman's help
he thought I was her father

it's raining hard again
gutters like rivers
storm drains splashing white water
more skyline has gone missing
umbrellas wrestling wind
raindrops rilling down a picture window
as afternoon sheds it's light

as I watch sleep's breaths
her hunger awakens and feistiness returns
"Don't they feed their patients here?"
they never told us to call food services
another blood pressure reading
another blood draw
another trip to the restroom
and it's all good
a colonoscopy evaluation
maybe Thursday or Friday...
looks like time got her wish

Though necessary to down:
four Dulcolax laxative tablets,
quaff half 238 gram bottle of Miralax
over span of eight hours,
and if necessary even one Fleets Enema,
I grudgingly accept short lived
lower abdominal discomfort
analogous to reasonable and tolerable
assault upon me derriere
considerably less severe than shigella
tube be worth knowing
nada worry colon cancer
would pose grave threat.

Three days before upcoming procedure
(scheduled for August 17th, 2022)
with Kellen Karl Kovalovich,
I remembered first colonoscopy
specialist named Larry Borowsky
located 525 Jamestown Ave. #101,
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(challenged courtesy hearing difficulty,

hence he wore an auditory device)
treated me some half dozen plus years ago,
yours truly didst solidly waste,
rather subsequently spent
a few hours writing, toil letting,
and crafting the following bupkis
slightly modified to correspond
with present modus operandi treatment.

Ask any devotee  
of above named gastroenterologists
officious military licensed cheeky knucklers,
ne’er kissed gluteus maximus,
they soldiered thru medical school
despite getting pooped out
rigorous regimen now both know
vital details regarding bowels of human
excretory system, which iz alimentary
and familiar flickering
sleight of hand linkedin
quicken wrist zooms into grab bag
of medicinal tricks - mimics

waving magic wand bitta bang
prestidigitation abracadabra
of **** scope brings – dang
gustatory scenic aerated holy smoker
of a ******, a wasteland fang
less, but the backside seat,
where ****** berries
and/or polyps sometimes hang,
whence undergoing this
behind the scenes procedure
where smelly silent sonnets
from sphincter sprang

most times flatulence
relieved in private place
but, post-op probe forced air into buttucks,  
thus encourage patients
to aerate sterile space
otherwise known as passing gas
scrutinized faces elicit embarrassment
of elderly folks,
who feel self conscious farting in public
before departing from human race,
rearing specialist unheralded doctors
relieves anguish without a trace

which gratitude spurred
****** attempt to compose verse
to express appreciation
clean bill of health and disperse
anticipatory anxiety, this pooper trooper
endured with pseudo “nurse”
actually mine wife, who nudged me
to undergo examination
lest she bare witness
becoming a widow following mine hearse
if hypothetical demise did pass,
deceased would hear loud curse

analogous to unstoppable enema,
(brought out from downed colyte
consumed for first colonoscopy)
expletives interspersed with my name
exhibiting master card
shark cunning never forgiving
nor forgetting how we happened
to be broke nearly the entire
coup d’état of marriage –  
reaching cheeky **** pinching
catatonic state die n rapport,
this generic guy saved
from premature death viz ace sing  

examination positive outcome tantamount
with flying colors – at least now,
our two grown darling daughters can
(in ****** dooby doo doo time), perhaps
if/when they beget
their own children witness longevity
courtesy of doctors Kellen Karl Kovalovich,
and/or Larry Borowsky,
whose honed trained hands n eyes
to scout out and ticket
suspicious cellular demons,
aim of innocuous microbes
to destroy e pluribus e unum alone!

The dead-bolts on the interior doors
Against the nephews most securely locked
(One is destructive; the other explores)
Ignored by their mother (usually crocked)

The brother-in-law babbles about his bowels
And surgeries over the festive spread
Ignoring his wife’s disapproving scowls
Detailing each grim therapy and med

The puppies are safely penned inside
Because of an incident with a crowbar
And a nephew who kicked and screamed and cried -
He wasn’t allowed to **** the dogs or bash the car

His mother comforted him in his tears
And glowered at me for telling him no
And comforted herself with a few more beers
Her special child is sensitive, you know

The brother-in-law’s colonoscopy
With lurid adjectives of graphic doom
Comes with the pie and more iced tea
His miseries circulate around the room

Then from the living room an expensive crash
“Not me!” “Not me!” More screams and denials and cries
An old family vase – it’s now just trash
“You shouldn’t have glass around,” their mother sighs

The brother-in-law offers to show his scars
He finds his shirt buttons, makes his move
We other men escape outside for cigars
Cigars!? The women uniformly disapprove

One nephew leaps upon a garden seat
And jumps and yells until it falls apart
Their mother says her boy is cute and sweet
“Are you all right, my dear little heart?”

The brother-in-law holds his tummy and groans
And tells us all about his flatulence
And just which foods lead to what moans
(Perhaps he should practice some abstinence)

The women come outside to cough and choke
With practiced puritan disapproval and sneers
About the satanic scent of tobacco smoke
The world’s best mother chugs a few more beers

The brother-in-law explains why he can’t drink
It’s about his digestion (be surprised)
And we shouldn’t smoke; if only we’d think
And we (got a match?) are properly chastised

Then at the end of this mandatory day
Of mandatory Hallmark merriment
All of them finally go the (space) away
And how did the mailbox get broken and bent?

But the brother-in-law pauses at the garden gate
“Say, did I tell you about my new pills…?”
And so dear solitude again must wait
While darkness slowly falls upon the hills

II

Do not be afraid, my darling
I see you.
I see your tattered spirit
and stripped flesh
wandering in darkness.
Alas!
we are kindred,
you and I,
for I too have been
murdered.
I have died a hundred times
and I have lived a
hundred and one
We, who are dead
but still breathing,
are kindred.
I have been poisoned by
the nectar of lust. And
this nectar was
sweet and it was
intoxicating and it was
addictive and it was
******* lust.
It was fed to me by
a man posing as
a god and he kept
my goblet full and
I was paralyzed.
He was not a god
nor a man.
He was a snake,
a false prophet.
The nectar was
venomous and
my blood,
my body, and
mind were
laced with
paralytic venom
I could not move
and died waiting.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who have died
waiting and paralyzed.
We who have been
murdered by false
prophets and snakes.
We are kindred with
Eve and the apples of
Eden, we who are
poisoned but  
still alive.
In this paralytic state
a surgeon came
and he said unto me
“I will let you be free”
and he cut into me.
He entered my chest
so delicately and
so eloquently he
whispered to me
“ Darling, if I cannot
keep you I can’t let
you be free.”
He wanted a
keepsake, a piece
of my heart.
Something which I
would never just
willingly part.
He took a small
piece though I
screamed to
his claim. This
was not my love,
just blood,
muscle, and veins.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We who walk around
with pieces that will
never be found.
We who have filled
the empty cavity with
other objects to
replace what can
never mended.
Do not fear, my darling
we are still pumping
blood and we
are still alive!
An artistic healer
found me wandering.
He said unto me,
“ My love, I see your
rough edges and you
are flawless to me
with all your perfect
imperfections.”
I was his canvas
that could be remade
to what he wanted
me to portray.
He molded me,
bent me,
folded me,
painted me.
He chiseled away
at places that
were already weak
places that were
untouched by people
like He. I was his
muse which he
misused, abused,
and attempted to
create and sculpt
art, which I was,
to his vision
of what I should be.
He coated me,
plastered me,
froze me in time but
paper machete is fragile
and I never asked to
be molded or painted.
Slowly I broke free
from thee. Death by
art was not meant
for me
Alas!
My darling,
do not be afraid.
We are kindred
you and I.
I see you in all
your molded glory
upon the altar
which he built
to display a creation
which he did not create.
I am the one
who chiseled
at the cement
and the plaster
and the paper
and the alter
so that we can
escape a different
type of cage.
I see you broken
but uncaged.
A builder of dreams
approached me and
he said unto me
“ You are a rarity
in a world full of
mediocrity. A rare
bird like you should
not be caged.”
He built me a castle
made of sand and
deafened me with
promises which
were lies. The tide
rolled in and castles
made of sand were
taken back to sea
and i was deaf
and I could not
hear the rumbling ,
the crumbling,
the mumbling as it
was all swept away.
I was asphyxiated by
the sand and sea
of empty promises
and lies
and expectations
that I found myself
chocking on.
Do not be afraid my darling.
Alas!
We are kindred
you and I.
We have
swallowed
and choked
and  inhaled
the dirt which
posed as sand.
We who have been
drowned in lies.
We who have
been buried and
have touched the
ocean floor at great
depths have come back
to the surface.
Alas!
We are still swimming.
We are the ones who
saw the shore and
returned to land
with our feet firmly
planted on sinking sand
and unsteady ground.
Hush my darling, and do
keep our secret safe.
Hush and never let them
know that we, who are
dead but living, are the
ones who created the shore.
We have a multitude of
little deaths. Deaths which
showed us life, joy, and
pain.
Alas!
My darling,
we are kindred
you and I.
We are the masochists.
We invite the murders in.
We who see the axe in his
hand as he knocks and
yet we still allow the
murderous aftermath
to begin with no regard
for the clean up.
My darling, we take with
us a piece of our killers
as they have taken a
keepsake from us.
Alas!
My darling
we have taken
we have learned
we have observed
we have seen their
surgical precision as
they have taken us
apart. We have
mended and
stitched and
sewn and
glued and
filled and
repaired
ourselves.
Oh my darling
do not fear for
we who are
still alive
still fighting
still breathing
still living
still pumping blood,
we have taken
their murderous
intent. We who
were victimized
by batting eyes
and lies that left
bitterness as an
aftertaste have
have learned to
lace honey with
arsenic. We are
kindred, you and I.
We are different
now. The stichting
and filling
and sewing
and gluing
has changed
us.
We are not afraid,
my darlings.
We see you.
You who have
caged and
trampled and
opened and
taken and
broken and
killed are no
longer feared.
Be afraid
my darlings.
Alas!
We see you.

III

I am a serial killer.
I have ravaged
empty vessels
which once upon
a time were
filled with ideas
of what could be.
I am innocent!
I slay the murderers
who murdered me.
Those who murdered
we.
I and we have
perfected the craft
which you,
and you,
and you,
and you
have used as
weapons of
mass distraction,
mass destruction.
I am the one
who distracts
and destroys.  
I have ingested
sufficient venom
to become
arsenic laced
honey.
I have let a
man drink
from me ‘til
he could drink
no more. He
drank himself
to insanity.
Oh dear!
I fear I did
not warn him
of the venom
that’s within.
What once was
just plain honey
is now
poisonous
to him.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
cervical slayers.
But again
I am innocent!
I once sheltered
a wretch and
he sought
sanctuary
inside of me.
He never looked
at my eyes.
Only prayed at
the church that
he made betwixt
my thighs.
Oh dear!
I fear
I did not mention
that this was not
his church. It was
my sanctuary which
was now covered
in his dirt.
Death by exertion
was his end.
I let him die *******
but I did not let
him win
A tragic death
for a stallion
like he. Because
I am small he
underestimated me.
Like Helen of Troy
I brought
destruction
upon thee.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
psychological
terrorizers and
verbal mesmerizers.
I have linguistically
lobotomized men
who thought they
could philosophize
the origin of I.
I have sown the
seeds of doubt
within the halls of
confidence which
have lain within his
mind.
I have broken
fortress walls
that were built to
withstand the  
wrath that fell
upon *****
and Gomorrah.
We have cut out
the tongues of
our verbal
betrayers and
left them befuddled
in Babylon.  
Oh dear!
I fear I forgot
to mention that
Freud is my Father
and Jung is my
uncle.
Your mommy issues
do nothing for me.
I am not her!
I am a child of
psychology.
Rationally you are
weaker than me
mentally.
I am a serial killer.
The killer of
egotistical thrillers.
I have paralyzed
and anesthetized
men who have been
thrice the size of me.
My scalpel is sharp
and my steady hand
cuts as deep as my
verbal violations.
This is my body.
This is not your nation.
My dissection was but
a brief vacation to
your annihilation.
Your internal organs
were similar to an
egotistical colonoscopy.
You thought your
insides were different
from me.
You required proof
that we were the
same.
I said
“Let me cut first”
and you did not
complain.
Oh dear!
I fear I failed
to mention I’m
quite skilled and
I have killed before,
far better men and
even their ******.
I am a serial killer!
A killer of killers!
You are a cheap
thrill as I reap
and I sow.
I plant the seeds
that I know will
not grow.
You will stay frozen
and will get old.
I need not a keepsake.
I own your soul.

IV

We are naked.
Our flesh is worn
and our spirit torn.
The garments which
once kept us warm
are now just eaten
and tattered.
We have silently
walked
and waited
and paced ourselves
and learned hatred.
WE have come
back home where
board games and
Barbies wait.
I have broken
all my favorite toys
just like you
and you
and you
and the horse
you rode in on
have taken all
my simple joys.
You have all
taken away
a piece of pink
and replaced
with a piece of
grey. A piece
which will never
be the same.
Oh Darling!
Do not fear for me
do not fear for we.
We have become the
porcelain women
which watch
and wait.
Our pink colored
kingdom shall
never be invaded
because here we
are waiting.
Not even shoots
and ladders or even
the Madd Hatter
can lead you to
green pastures.
Oh my!
You failed to notice
the malicious
twinkle in
my eyes.
I fear this was
your fault
for you created
a steeple
betwixt my
thighs.
Silly rabbit,
we were never
yours.
I was always
mine.
This is
not revenge.
This is a warning
before the rhyme.

had a picture of dad on my nightstand
it fell not too long ago
but landed upright
atop his shoe shine box that I kept
its new position not precarious
I let it stay there
thought it was kinda fitting
a picture from his older years
taken in the kitchen
looking up into the camera
from the task at hand
peeling boiled potatoes
for potato salad
my potato peelin' pop
morning sun shine spot lights that picture
warm, smiling, reassuring

mom's back in ICU now
transferred to rehab with high hopes
bleeding, unresponsive
cardiac arrest en route back to ER
x-rays, CT scans
transfusions, blood draws, ventilator
endoscopy?
colonoscopy?
dialysis?
quality of life questions
the more I watch her
the more I wonder

How I wish pop could tell us what to do

Encroaching satellites
High voltage saturation and shade
And an obtuse synopsis of cognitive psychology

Condensing your threshold
Searching for hand outs
Ripping the railings out of the walls
In the stairwells in the doctor's office on the way to your colonoscopy  

Laying on the futon with and your therapist writing down everything you say
"Go on"
"Mhm"
"I see"
"How does that make you feel?"

Skid-marked underwear
Delving, dumpster diving for food
In the lonesome twilight
In the rippling rainstorm

People shelling out gripes
Squinting, doing a double take at you
Followed by a wavering tumult
They're gonna have you capped
That is, unless you purchase this love seat

       -Tommy Johnson

Today will be the kind of day
That I would rather wish away.
But wishing will not change the fact
That it's time to reenact
A little procedure--not so merry--
Which, I fear, is necessary.
For I have to prep, you see,
For my colonoscopy!

TMI, you say. Why share
The messy details of this affair?
Details? No, I'll spare you those.
That is something to leave to the pros.
But anyone who's done this before
Knows what tomorrow has in store.
Frankly, it's not my cup of tea--
Having a colonoscopy.

The prep is really the part I hate.
No solid food upon my plate.
And nothing purple, red, or blue.
Jello's the only thing I can chew.
Otherwise, it's liquids only.
My stomach's already feeling lonely.
Tomorrow I will eat with glee,
AFTER my colonoscopy.

Tonight at 6:00 the "clean-out" commences.
That could have bad consequences
If our toilet were out of commission.
Then I'd be in an awkward position.
Tonight you will have to admit
That you can’t say I’m full of &%!#.
I assume that you'd agree:
Not fun, a colonoscopy.

-by Bob B (3-8-20)

I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past

crumbling at the edges
eroded over time

aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor

once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow

it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night

now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware

new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”

a litany of tests are conducted
let’s begin with a blood test

maybe a ***** sample
we can schedule an MRI

is this a heart attack
there is a CAT or CT scan as it is known

what about the C word, cancer
let’s do an ultrasound

ff that doesn’t find it there is always
an endoscopy or colonoscopy complete with biopsy

the realization that life’s destiny is prevailing
is the end nigh

the relic you have become
looking at you in the mirror of life

Andreas Simic©

(A MePhone rattles and twanks and pings like Robby-the-Robot gone bad.)

Woman: “Yeah?”

(silence)

Woman: “YEAH?”

(silence)

Woman: “I’m in the hospital.”

Noise from MePhone: (think Charlie Brown’s parents)

Woman: “I’m in the hospital!”

MePhone: (Charlie Brown’s parents)

Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “YEAH!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “YEAH!”

MePhone: (incoherent noises – could be a ******)

Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”

MePhone: (the ****** continues)

Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”

Offstage, a young woman in scrubbies: “Mr. Lawrence…?”

(Deo gratias)

Exit, pursued by Too Much Information.

I am an adult,
No longer the kid I was,
the kid that chased wasps,
ordered ants to battle,
the one to enjoy a bike saddle,
now those are like colonoscopy,
an unpleasant pinch to me.

I could remember,
the feel of the grass on my sole,
As I ran through a field,
Feeling somehow very whole.
Completely oblivious to,
growing up,
where smiling was enough,
and happiness was trying to look up.

I am not the kid I use to be,
I wish I could be,
But the kid that chased bees,
No longer exists in this world.

today they stuck a fork in
my tender rose
to bruise the soul
equate logic for fear
I shed a tear to numb its pain
shaped back a dream to its ******
it came out negative,

brandished as a rose left comforted on the floor
to try to even the score
the duration of the surgery was painless

What a trip! Have you ever
Had a capsule endoscopy?
The prepping procedure's exactly what
You do for a colonoscopy.

It's SO much fun! Of course, I don't
Have to say I'm being sarcastic.
The feeling of peeing out one's rear
Isn't a feeling I'd call fantastic.

After the prep, it's all downhill.
A pill-like camera is ingested--
One that travels through the body,
Basically unmolested.

Wires taped to your body
Connect to a monitor, which will record
The camera's journey through your system.
"Everybody, hop on board!

"After the throat, we take a plunge
Down the esophagus. Hurray!
We're now in an empty stomach.
There's no food to get in the way.

"Watch out for those dangerous acids,
Which ask, 'What is this to digest?'
To them a camera passing through
Is NOT a very welcome guest.

"Next stop: the duodenum.
Here we go around the bend.
We still have a ways to go
Before our adventure nears its end.

"The long trek through the small intestine
Is a windy, curvy path
Five to seven meters long.
How many feet? You do the math.

"Say hi to Mr. Appendix
As we leisurely pass him by.
He's not the most appreciated
Part of the human body. Poor guy.

"As we traverse the colon we
Realize the end's in sight.
How refreshing to know that at
The end of the tunnel, there's a light!

"We hope the journey was a safe one
With NO dangers or major surprises.
The prep indeed was the worst part of all,
But life is full of compromises."

What happens to the capsule next
I'll leave to your imagination.
If everything comes out as planned,
That'll be cause for celebration.

- by Bob B (4-4-17)

Not sure if this would be consider taboo
To even mention the view
Did I just hear her say the word touche
When the doctor proceeded to do what she had to do

With stage crew and camara in hand
Filming what little dignity I have left
Are the tapes rolling, I may need consoling
When this crazy trip finds somewhere to land

Do I even need to mention the day before
Pills and laxatives by the score
To clean out my innards must be at least 10 pounds thinner
Need I say anything anymore

Back to the uncomfortable crowd
You can hear a pin drop at the sound
For them it's routine, for me a dastardly deed
Could someone please send in the clowns

Adding a touch of savoir faire
Excuse me, is there enough room in there
If things get a bit tight make sure the pliers are sanitized
Anyone up for a game of truth or dare

Doesn't get anymore personal than this
Best friends now without even a kiss
Operation at 7 film at 11
To be viewed YouTube via Internet

Staplers and hole-punch
Paper, signatures, and stamps
Busy, busy work
Audit error, office closed
Oncoming apocalypse

---

“If you are viewing this instructional video, you may be having some glitches with your audit processes. Don’t panic. From time to time, any bureaucracy worth its hole-punch will need to conduct an audit.

Daily dandy-desk-documented fun
Standard sunny-systematised-stapled hijinks

However, sometimes, there is a clerical error, or worse, a process deviation. If this occurs during an ordinary, 8:45am-5:20pm workday, the standard review process can be implemented, commencing on the same day, should the error be detected before 12pm, and if later than 12pm, commencing on the next working day. The typical review timelines can then follow, ideally 3-5 business days for information gathering, followed by committee consideration dependent on the 6-weekly cycle and agenda length.

Expected. Thorough. Busy. Reassuring.
All systems nominal.
Stamping and signing rates above baseline.
Working hard, at a sensible, sustainable pace. Amiright?

Unfortunately, occasionally,
something cataclysmic happens
bottom right on the risk matrix
(likelihood=E (rare) x consequence=5 (catastrophic))

Hold onto your staplers…
A fault occurs during the audit.
An audit error in the error audit.
This results in the dreaded, circular,
Paper Ouroboros Paradox.  
At this point, the
perfectly procedured
copybook committeed
faultlessly filed
bureaucracy
will implode.

The only way of avoiding POP is
a concurrent process to audit the
audit, we call this The Meta Audit.  
The bookish amongst you may want to say
that would increase the circularity
(moving POP from likelihood=E, to D!)
Don’t worry, we run the Meta Meta
Audit to make sure that never happens.

Our favourite galactic bureaucrat avatars, the Vogons, were the first race to encounter the pure, paper-curling hell of TMA. That is why these instructions are written in poetry, of sorts. But not Vogon-authored poetry, of course, even though
the quality
and honestly
the policy
of the potential use
of these directions
or sections
or connections
for torture
Have never been directly investigated.

The KPI for TMA is known as the
Kafka-Cockroach Distance
measured in imaginary cockroach lengths (icL).

Under potential conditions of
POP, the TMA KPI KCD starts at
42 icL
     and counts down with
     every fatal meta error:
       -Information presented to audit
         committee in triplicate
         instead of quadruplicate,
41 icL
      -Audit presentation containing
        27 slides instead of 26,
        as clearly outlined,
40 icL
     -Email about colonoscopy sent
       to audit address list instead of mum,
39 icL
     And so on.

You’ll know when you reach 17 icL,
You’ll see the cockroaches.
Conveniently, this makes measurement simpler

Now you know how to calculate your Kafka-Cockroach Distance, you can audit your audits with perfect assurance and insurance.

---

This bureaucracy
Kafkaesque catastrophe
Dear Douglas Adams
Thanks for giving me words for
Processing my processes

Awake on the couch with a chill
deeper than the cold and damp outside
The cold and damp inside.
What rhymes with colonoscopy?
Cold alone *** copy?
Cold nose cope ***?
Time for your anxiety sir. Open wide.
I wrap a blanket around my shoulders
the way old men do to keep warm
in their wheel chairs
as someone rolls them out into the sun
like a potted plant.

Suns coming up.
I can hear Mazie panting
at the top of the stairs.
I hope she doesn’t fall
trying to walk down in the dark.
Down in the dark.
She’s very unsteady.
Losing her balance.
Occasionally she tries to run and play
chasing her lost youth like the stick I once threw.
I wonder if she fears getting old
Like we do.
Like I do.

I hear Twister shaking herself,
as if I can hear every follicle
shaking one against the other,
then jump on the bed.
She lays down in my spot
and keeps it warm for me.
Such a kindness to faithfully keep one spot in this bleak, coldness warm just for me.
I look in her eyes sometimes and see
All the sadness
All the hope
All the trust
All the love
All     that     matters.

I’m not sleeping very well
Up every hour or three to ***
Or waking to worry
about money, health, life or love,
or the eminent lack thereof
of all of the above.

Rob asked me about Melodie
It’s odd because Rob and I never talk
And here I am
having a more intimate conversation with him
than I do with Melodie.
He asked me why I never mention her
I told him there was nothing to say.
That there was little between us.
What an odd way to describe not being in love.
“Little between us”.
As if love were a kind of space
or a cushion
a nook
or a cranny
a fence
a wall
an ocean
a deep, echoing chasm
or a bed.

Love is a kind of space.
A sacred space.
A sacred, funny, crazy, maddeningly,
painful, life threatening,
perfectly imperfect space.
A space in which to be held and hold
A space to be well... loved?
A space in which to be well loved.
A space in which to be well.
A space in which to be.

Remember that line from the movie “Alien”?
In space…no one can hear you scream.

David George and some call me Huggy bear.

I have been a way for a long while. I missed my home. I missed the people here.

I missed the way to talk, to blog.

I wish I had a camera. Maybe it is better that I don't. I look older now.

I have taken off for easier things , like FB. No stress, just family mostly.

As you mostly know , I have been mostly healthy and out playing sports like tennis and hockey and ***. Well not so much *** but mostly tennis.

I wake up a 10 and I have a great selection of daily activities.

Lately I have been organizing a VRR video recording room. I need to get it finished for the beginning of 2018 but it looks like it will be closer to the middle of 2018. Closet project got in the way.

I found a new friend on FB. She accepted my friend request which makes me happy. I go to her FB page and see her posts which makes me happy.

On Wednesday  we have to go to the hospital for my wife's colonoscopy but I am not looking forward to that.   I have vitalago but it does not hurt. Only when I was a child and kids would tease me about my freaky looking skin.  They would say hurtful things like. You have a skin problem, or you didn't eat your vegetables or call me "burn victim".

My wife is concerned about my drinking. She thinks I drink to much. Well she is right but I still drink to much scotch. She loves me and is concerned about me. I know I should stop and I have in the past.

My health is good and I have great friends to play tennis with.

One day I will make a great partner for my wife and make her very very happy.

Within this last 7 years I have had acid reflux and I take nexium. If I didn't drink I would not need it.

I am a true toughie medically. I believe I am one lucky man to have what I have at age 60. Some people envy me and avoid interaction. They know I have a lot of things they will never have.


I did not expect a certain person to be here. he has proven to be a liar, a someone who needs drama in the worst way. If  there is evil, I look at him that way. he has hurt many on line, off line. I wish not to have anything else to do with him, yet, I fought hard today.. maybe it was because of the losses. Dan from VH, Argent from here, Zen, and as they say it all comes in 3. My heart broke . Vloggers are a rare bunch. Some quite , some loud, and vocal , all the same vloggers , and bloggers. . They vary is sight, some no one see's . But they are spirits of site , and the ones who walk at night that none ever see's .. I came back to the people who somewhat know me. Who I have hard times with, good times , tearful times, but yet we all still exist .I was thinking that if I die, I would want to talk, tell stories, laugh, read, see the wonderful work that Frank does, and hear Lauri's rightful acts. I would like to hear jry again, and all the ladies here. The tes, the crown, the proper . I am just a wild bird, sometimes get stuck in tree's . But I live , I cry, I love and someday will die , but not yet.. I have too much to read and hear. I have loved many, and few have loved me. But yet I loved anyway. Why? because the light is brighter than. The days vetter an the tea sweet,

I am back, I hope I am welcome. I am imply happy to be back

Opposed inter courses with crashed images suffer
Bags brittleness stash secretly a million mumbles
Opinionated receiving-ly I'd proclamations
Laugh isf despise becclure unfamiliar faces
Gave my decency add to my atrocity
Gotta kick in my colonoscopy