You don't have a headache.

The GP you named doesn't know you.

The pharmacist recognizes your name.

You even called me before.

I won't prescribe the drugs.

Play the game elsewhere.

Call up some other doctor.

Set out your lies:

“Doctor, here is my lie.

I want you to join me in my lying.

Pretend I am sick.

Give me what will make me sicker.

Give me a stick

with which to beat myself.

Help me to die.”

Kirsten Emmott was born in Edmonton, Alberta. She studied medicine at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver and practises in Comox, British Columbia. She published a collection of poems, How Do You Feel? (Soho Nis Press); some of her poetry can also be found on www.kirstenemmott.com. This poem is from The Naked Physician: Poems about the Lived of Patients and Doctors, edited by R. Charach (Quarry Press). Reproduced with kind permission of the author.

Chosen by Femi Oyebode.