Old Man Brxb

A place for my poems

The Microwave, or The Passing of the Prostate

By J. Carl Brooksby

I have a horror story that really should be told,
So I’ll go ahead and tell it, if I may be so bold.
It is a delicate subject and also one of gloom,
So if there’s ladies present, I suggest they leave the room.
I went to my urologist, ‘cause I couldn’t get a stream,
And all that gittin’ up at night was spoilin’ all my dreams.
He checked me over up an’ down, then said, “Before I’m through,
There’s one more small procedure, that I must always do”.
He said, “Now drop yer trousers and bend over this here bench.
I’ve got to feel inside ya, regardless of the stench”.

Now, in this here position, one thought came to my mind
I said, “I see where, in yer work, ye’re gittin’ a little behind.”
He said, “ I feel yer prostate, it’s big and hard and round.
And by my calculations, I’d say it weighs a pound”.
He said, “Yer heart is dandy, yer kidneys and yer spleen,
But y’ve got the biggest prostate that I have ever seen.
Now this here next procedure must be done this very day.
Go to the laboratory and have them check yer PSA.
With yer enormous prostate, I’m much afraid of cancer.
And this simple blood test will furnish us an answer.”

Next week, he called me in and said, “Old man, ye’re in a fix.
Yer PSA should be zero, but yer’s is twenty six!”
We must take a biopsy, a procedure done right here.
An’ it don’t hurt much harder than me feelin;’ up your rear.”,
He says, “Take all yer clothes off an’ lay on this here table.
Lay on yer side and an’ pull up yer knees as far as ya are able”.
Then along comes a young nurse. She looked so sweet and dear.
She took a camera on a tube and shoved it up my rear.
Now to me, a modest man, this here was quite demeaning,
And it gave the term “hidden camera” a completely different meaning.

Then the doctor brought a gun out, like the ones they use for nails.
When he loaded it with needles, I started turnin’ pale.
Then he started shootin’ needles into me one by one.
It only stung a bit at first, but it dang sure wasn’t fun.
But I got to countin’ needles and was up to seventeen,
It was hurtin’ me like fury, and I figger’d he was mean.
But when he said, “I’m finished”, the stoppin’ felt so good,
That I almost danced an Irish jig when on my feet I stood.

Next week, he called me in an’ said, “The prognosis ain’t so great.
We’ve jest got to do somethin’ before it gits too late.
I ain’t sayin’ yer a goner, but when I told my friends at Rotary,
The casket maker giggled; the mortician danced with glee.
But I’ve got a new procedure that’s surely bound to please ya.
It’s called the microwave, and mister, it don’t freeze ya.
We do it in my office both in comfort and with speed,
An’, besides, this here procedure’s eighty percent guaranteed.”

They took me in this little room, filled with gadgets fancy
When they shoved the microwave up me, I started feelin’ antsy.
Then into the other orifice, (ya sit on this here one)
They shoved a meat thermometer to tell when I was done.
Then they turned the machine on and kept turnin’ it up higher,
It wasn’t very long until I started to perspire.
But soon he turned it off again, the cookin’ was all through,
He said, “In three to six months, ya’ll feel like ye’r twenty two.
Now here are my instructions. Ya must foller them to the letter.
And y’ll surely feel much worse before ya get to feelin better.

Now, I’m here to tell ya, this here doctor, he don’t lie,
‘Cause throughout the next week or so, I thought that I would die.
But gradjerly, as time went by, I stared feelin’ well,
But slowly I got to feelin’ like my gland was beginnin’ to swell.
I went to see the doc again; he said, “There’s good news and there’s bad.
An’ I know that what I tell ya won’t make ya feel too glad.
Ya know, I never told ya this procedure worked every time.”
(Now this here line ain’t needed, but a poem’s got to rhyme.)
“We’ve got to do it one more time; this time should do the trick.
We only cooked ya medium rare; yer gland was jest too thick.”

I said, “Y’ve told me gloomy news, now how about the good?
Ya said there was some good news, I think I understood”.
He said,, “I think y’ve seen my wife, the beauty queen from Texas.
The good news is, I can now afford to buy her that new Lexus.”
Now, concernin’ this here doctor, I won’t say no words unkind,
Fer he has a lot of knowledge a fillin’ up his mind.
But I’d challenge this young feller to a cook-off just fer fun.
Cuz, leastwise, I can barbecue a steak until it’s done.

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3 thoughts on “The Microwave, or The Passing of the Prostate

  1. Mac Hamblin on said:

    Carl, we can see why this is your favorite. Great writing.

    Mac & Ren’e

  2. This is so cool!

  3. Nicely done sir, nicely done.

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