Squashed…


It is that time of another year…

A tart in the mammogram changing room,

Finds her dignity hard to sustain,

For the hot rushing blush of the single boob hush,

Makes technician avert eyes for shame.

I’ve a PH and D, in destructible me,

And in time honour, graduate acceptance,

No cleavage, no grievage,

Manhandled, unsleeve-age,

We mush up the bits that remain….

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