Malpractice
Ilya Shambat
He did not care for poetry or flowers or romance
He was a rational man,
A surgeon of all people,
And he had no use for nonsense such as above.
"The shortest way between Point A and Point B is a straight line,"
he reasoned,
"And the shortest way to a woman's heart is through her breast."
So he cut through her breast and got almost close enough to feel her
heart,
But the ribs were too strong
And he could not get through them.
He did not know the Kali Ma trick - that's just superstitious
nonsense, not for reasonable men like him.
But maybe he did not care about the heart.
Maybe he just wanted a piece of breast.
So he cut out a piece of her breast and put it in a jar.
When she came back screaming in agony
He wanted another piece of her breast.
"This b*tch is mine, and I will have her even if she croaks"
He reasoned -
You know how the nice respectable people whose professional judgment
we trust over our own operate -
As he demanded another $5,000 for a new operation.
The piece
Of her breast
In a jar
Acquired a life of its own
Passed among medical students
As spoils of his professional triumph.
"Good job, Dr. P." they all said
As they learned to follow his footsteps
As the fastest path to the breasts, the hearts and the wallets of
people in their care
And they laughed at the little lady
With a dent in her chest
And a hole in her wallet
And a surgeon's knife through her heart
Whose life they were sworn to protect
But found much more reasonable to cut short.