Just Doing My Job
“You have a hemorrhoid,” Geringer commented,
his finger probing my anus,
wiggling around like a burrowing worm.
It sounded like an accusation.
“I know,” I said.
At least I’d suspected it.
“Otherwise, your prostate’s fine.”
He handed me a wad of tissues
to mop up the lubricating jelly.
“Any travel plans for the summer?”
My annual urological exam.
I marveled at how mundane
he made it all sound.
Horror Sleaze Trash 