The benefits of a new medical procedure. |
When I first heard of Fix-it Fats, I charged my negativity (he who hangs crepe), and scared him since he must have sat down ‘cause I ain’t heard from him lately. He was always doin’ his hangin’, sayin’ my plantar fasciitis won’t get better, ever. But in my charge I spoke to him of these new Fix-it Fats that had all those regenerative cells, and that seemed good. So he sits now somewhere in a dark corner or beneath a staircase, Mr. Negativity does, as good old Doctor Pierce sucks fat with syringe from my fold (love handles can afford it), and then does something to that cheesy mass like in a CSI lab, and gets at those cells. Later, rotund Pierce returns in long smock, smug as death and taxicabs, shaking another syringe and humming. I ask, “What of it?” and he says, “You betcha,” and I just sit there with my foot up, minus a sock. Pierce pokes a bit at bare foot and I lean back a-ways. He numbs heel and we pass chat back and forth like un-made up minds--for it is like words icy and thin, and no one wants to field the cold. After another while he injects me and we both root for Fix-it Fats, not as if we were at a baseball game but good enough for the office. The nurse turns and says something about lunch and gives me a nod. Some more time goes by, and I flex my foot, slide from the table and exclaim, “Doctor, I can walk!” 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp Co-Winner 3-21-16 |