For the purposes of checking
the activities of our parents’
liberally gifted genes I lay on
a hospital bed under bright lights
as three blue garbed people
hovered murmuring, muttering
numbers as I wafted through
a pleasant haze.
Later after sustaining soup and
sandwiches the specialist reported
the numbers were not good.
Coloured photos of my insides
showed malign gene activity.
Our public health system
crumbles, treatment of our
parents’ rogue genes will cost many
dollars – while I still have them.