Mystery

After querying 

medical people,

a few that 

wanted to help, 

or spout pain 

med knowledge,

or vegetables with 

anti-inflammatory fame,

after hearing 

drug names

ending in syllables 

that sound like pain,

after those vegetables 

who sound delicious, but 

require energy to prep,

whether they’re 

anti-anything

or not;

after visiting an ER twice,

MRI machines three times, 

X-Ray machines twice,

and an ultra-sound machine, 

while reclining

uncomfortably, watching 

interested women hover, 

and disinterested women

ask questions, how,

and what, and if, et cetera,

we and they tell jokes

to banish odd fears 

about a mystery pain,

after physical therapies

that work magically 

and then don’t,

after opinion and speculation,

definitions, and specialists’

equivocation, explanation,

after nurse sympathy 

and the occasional

disinterest, I still see

metaphorical shrugs,

and puzzlement.

After all that,

it still hurts.