Donal Mahoney- A Poem

Strangers in Peoria

I met a proper woman in a proper pub 

on a Monday in Peoria. I was taken by how much 

she looked like Jackie after Dallas 

but without the pillbox hat.

She was from New York and I was from Chicago 

and we were in Peoria for interviews

for jobs we thought we'd get. 

But living in Peoria, we thought, 

might not be a fit.

The lady was a surgeon recruited by a hospital. 

It took a little prompting but finally she said: 

"I repair pelvic floors in women."

She paused to see if I'd react

and when I didn't, she continued. 

"If a bladder drops, or a rectum tumbles 

or if a womb is full of fibroids, 

I'm the surgeon that lady needs to see.

These are ailments most men never

hear about unless they've had a wife 

who's had them." 

She sipped her Coke, 

dabbed the corner of her mouth, 

and then assured me: 

"When I get done, the lady's free 

of all protrusions. She can urinate, 

defecate and have sex again, all 

without discomfort."

Now I’ve met my share of women, 

but I had never met a woman,

drunk or sober, quite like her. 

I had no idea what to say and so 

I sat and listened. 

"Actually, my patients have a choice.

They can let me do the surgery or buy 

a pessary, a device few women know about 

until I pull one from the cabinet 

and explain its ins and outs. 

The pessary makes surgery seem simple 

and so we pick a day for me to tuck 

the organs back where they belong.

"Now, if the womb is full of fibroids,

I'll suggest that we remove the uterus as well. 

I tell her we'll take out her crib 

and leave her playpen intact. 

Often that's the best solution."

She sipped her Coke again and said, 

"Somewhere in Peoria, as we speak, 

a bladder's dropping, a rectum's quivering 

and a fibroid's growing. Believe me, 

if the salary is right, I'll take this job 

because a fibroid in Peoria's no different 

than a fibroid in New York."

Then she put me on the spot:

"Well, that's my story. What's yours?

What do you do for a living?"

I took a breath and said: 

"I repair sentences in documents 

written by intelligent people 

expert in arcane fields. 

Some of them can't spell 

or punctuate or if they can, 

they dangle participles, 

split infinitives or run 

their sentences together 

like mountain rams 

in rutting season." 

For emphasis I added, 

"I put muscle in their verbs, 

amputate their adjectives,

assassinate their adverbs. 

I give my clients final copy 

they can claim is theirs. 

The reader never knows 

a ferret like me has dashed

between the lines, 

nibbling at this 

and chomping on that."

Then I added a remark I hoped 

would prompt a get-together later 

for dinner and drinks, 

another chat and a little laughter,

who knows what else, 

before we'd have to take 

different planes back home:

"I believe our work is similar," I said. 

"I too put things back where they belong 

and cut away anything protruding."

About an hour later, we paid our tabs, 

said long good-byes and headed off 

in different directions. By day's end, 

we'd both be flying home;

and although we'd still be strangers,  

we'd be strangers who had had 

an interesting conversation. 

Not interesting enough, however, 

for either of us to ask 

the other for a name or number.

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Donal Mahoney has had work published in various print and electronic publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. 

Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/