Drink It Down
Drink it down,
Mother said,
it's good
for the bowels;
it'll stop you
feeling bunged up
and unable to shit.
The spoonful
tasted foul,
it clung
to your tongue
like black glue,
brought
your stomach
to your lips;
your eyes to water
and slid
slowly down
your throat
like a slippery snake,
and Mother saying,
like some baying hound,
don't pull such a face,
it'll do you good,
it's not poison you know.
You gave her a smile
and closed your eyes,
wondering if this how
a sick man feels
when he dies.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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