For years and years they told me,
be careful of your breasts.
Don’t ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings,
and protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
and I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram.
“O.K,” I said, “let’s do it.”
“Stand up here real close” she said,
(She got my boob in line,)
“And tell me when it hurts,” she said,
“Ah yes! Right there, that’s fine.”
She stepped upon a pedal;
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
my hooter’s in a vice!
My skin was stretched and mangled,
from underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt,
within its vice-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
my poor defenseless tit!
“Take a deep breathe” she said to me,
whom does she think she’s kidding?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
and woozy I am getting.
“There, that’s good,” I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
“Now, let’s have a go at the other one.”
Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down;
it squeezed me from both sides.
I’ll bet SHE’S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
my knockers getting steamrolled.
If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
it would have gone “ker-pow!”
This machine was created by a man,
of this, I have no doubt.
I’d like to stick his balls in there,
and see how THEY come out.