Usually, life’s daily intimate chores
Are performed behind
Firmly closed doors:
Daily rituals well understood by all.
But when things go wrong
With the system,
The medics are called in
And set free to do some testing,
Which they do with glee, of course—
Cameras up bums, backless gowns,
Forced to drink thick white goo
Without a spoonful of sugar to help it go down.
But the ultimate in these types of tests
Is the dreaded … proctogram,
The ultimate in entero exams,
To put fear in the hearts of the bravest man.
They make a mixture of potato flour
And insert it into you know where
(This, especially, is no pleasure)
And ask you to pass it at your leisure.
So? You say, no great matter,
Easy done, off I go, cut the chatter.
Ha-ha! Our medics chortle with glee.
This time, we want to see!
A proctogram is a great exam
If you like watching someone poo,
Especially when it’s via X-ray
And saved for viewing on a rainy day!
Having babies is no fun—
Lots of blood, gore, and pain,
Considered to be the mostest
Of the grossest of these types of things.
But a proctogram takes the cake:
It manages to take a nice picture of you
Taking a poo,
Naked of all dignity.