A genital wart, that’s an unpleasant thought
well it’s a lesson I got taught.
Went to the clinic, scared out of my mind
wondering what else they might find.
Behind the curtain, undressed from the waist,
I expect her to dish out some kind of paste.
Hoping that it will be painless and simple,
why are they fussing over a pimple?
“They spread like crazy” she says with a glare,
tells me that next time, I should take more care.
Leaning down over my legs with a smirk,
without people like me, she’d be out of work.
I stare at the ceiling, dreading each motion,
why must you burn me, ain’t there a lotion?
The red hot wire drives me berserk,
I’d rather let these pimples lurk.
This terrible pain is very unkind,
I’m being scraped at until I go blind.
I hope we don’t see you again, she says now
with a sarcastic smile, and a raised eyebrow.
Not likely you bitch, I think as I twitch,
unless I get crabs, and I start to itch.
She reminds me again, that I should beware
use condoms to avoid another scare.
It’s never that easy, when you are drunk,
he hardly acted like he was a monk.
It was too dark to notice a mark
the condom got lost, as we rolled in the park.
I didn’t fancy retrieving it then,
I never thought of diseases from men.
Now she is telling me I can’t have any,
I have to abstain, the spots are too many.
I cannot shave, they’ll go on the razor,
my horrified face does nothing to faze her.
I look up for comfort, but she’s very smug,
she is the expert on every bug.
I won’t return here for this awful pain,
a disease is better than this shame.
It could’ve been worse, it could’ve been AIDS.
Compared to that terror, embarrassment fades.
