“Is that her femoral artery?”
I met my lover late one night,
Stethoscope on my chest, BP cuff on my right,
And as he held my hand, on his resident’s command,
He summoned up all his might -
"I’m a doctor-in-training", he said,
Resting his body against my bed
"And is it too soon to make you swoon?
Because I know we’ve just met -
But you make my heart thump so hard
That cardiac arrest is on the cards,
Fast my blood flows for my soul knows
That true love has caught me off-guard.”
What was there to say but yes?
To a lack of experience he had confessed,
Yet I was fine with the nerdy pick up lines
Because for me adoration he had professed -
But he’s rare with actual compliments
Instead choosing to thank my ‘rents
For their chromosomes, their centrosomes
…I think good will was meant?
And even when he finds the right words
It sounds completely absurd
To hear “My dear, your telomeres
They have never faltered!”
All my girlfriends think I’m single
Because I never bring him out to mingle -
He works long hours, rarely showers,
And in small talk, the only lingual
Skills he has pertain to nerves of the tongue,
And if there’s pathology he has the lungs
To speak and speak for a more than a week,
As if other meddies he were among!
Surgery sets his heart on fire
More than my wanton desire,
Causing a fuss with his bloodlust
Whenever I want my body admired,
So when he’s making love to me,
I know he’s thinking of anatomy
Not what goes where, or how he fares,
But is that her femoral artery?
“Found it!” he cries instead of my name,
As if our activity is not a game
Of take-a-peek but hide-and-seek
Where physiology is the aim!
Still I know he’ll never cheat
Because he never has the time to meet
Another girl to take for a whirl,
And besides, I know I have them beat
With my ample mitochondria, cranial hypertrophy,
A million neurotransmitters and long phalanges -
Subcutaneous tissue, it’s never an issue;
So I’ll let him study our mutual biochemistry
Because he gives me atrial fibrillation,
Ventricular contractions and palpitations,
Every single date my muscles fasciculate,
Forever he’ll be my doctor, and I, his patient.
[An old poem I had lying around. It never fails to amuse me.]