Taking an ECG on a Sunday Morning



They say 40s is the decade
Of Cardiologists and the dreaded ECG
And I, nearing in on my 40s
Went to a hospital this morning and was severed
By a nurse, who with big bosoms
Looked a little immuned to a cardiogram
I took off my T-shirt and she rubbed
Some cream from the pecs to the ankle
And connected me to machine-central

As I walked off the hospital
I didn’t know how the alphabet 0f PQRSTU
Will sit with a cardiac specialist
After all what can you control in a heartbeat
That raptures to excitement and anxiety alike
And slumbers during 40 long winks
As I pray to a small figurine at home
My only hope being that the arrhythmia
That might be – or not – will only make me a patient
Of those instances when the heart skips
And the PQRSTU alphabet will only be as gleeful
As the gale of saturated mirth, flowing and ebbing
As waves on a machine, as tides of one folly
Of that incurable cardiomyopathy
Of heart-stop and valve-closure

When lip-fever rises like a flood-wave
Beyond the tipping point of sensibility
When tongue-flow slips through mouth-gates
To provoke one landslide
Burying the heart in one feeling

– In a windfall called love……..


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