Syringe Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Syringe

Though too young and small
In a neat white cloak, house to house
I go since I am called; carrying small bag
Inside it have needles with syringe
Varied size to inject…

People call me ‘doctor'!
Everything illegal!
But this is how things are!

Hussein is my master
-and does the abortion
-illegal
This is how the things are!

Alcohol and cotton
Aluminium container
I open, boil, the tools, sterilise
-then needle on syringe
-break the ampule; suck content
-go air-tight; find place and inject
-illegal
This is how the things are!

Different are patients
-old and young, children
-I hear the needles
-tears flesh, penetrate
-overused are needles
-illegal
This is how the things are!

Both IM and IV
After time are funny
-no fear anymore
-no shiver of fear
-I am now an expert

No more feel shy to see
-the buttocks, parts unseen
-near the genitals unclean or well-washed

As young boy there are times
-to forget pain, patient
-be amused with the sex…
-looking back feel ashamed

Yes I am well paid and
-always am respected
-as doctor…
-illegal
This is how the things are!

Mom flies into air
When hears the people:
-can we talk with doctor?

Other times on the bike
-or by walk, in times bus
-I go to Noor Alley
-list in hand to purchase
-medicines as mentioned

On return I carry
-the drugs I purchased
-expired and samples
-illegal
This is how the things are!

And Hussein perfectly
-packs and wraps
-in boxes and bottles
-and we sell them as new
-to the poor customers
-illegal
This is how the things are!

Yes, therefore I can see,
Yes I do sympathise, empathise
With many criminals
-with those in poverty…
-illegal they maybe
This is how the things are!