Burdens

After my last Endoscopy,

I had a sit down with my

Gastroenterologist: He had to make me aware

Of a message my body was trying to tell me. 

Are you awake? Has the propofol worn off? How are the saltines and ginger ales?

Fine, I shrugged.

I met someone, he told me, in your upper duodenum, just past your stomach, Oh and you have gastritis by the way.

Thanks, and what did that someone say, (playing along.)

There was a man down there, I viewed through the scope. He seemed depressed, and very alone, but well-fed.

Oh? Unclear.

He wants to come out but he’s afraid of you, and the weight of your burdens. That’s all I have to report, besides gastritis. I left the office hungrier than normal, confused, and I think I might be pregnant with a little tiny man.

Maybe I shouldn’t think of myself as a burden.

I don’t think it is healthy to carry

Another man’s worry, I mean mine.