Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Drink it down,
Mother said,

it's good
for the bowels;

it'll stop you
feeling bunged up

and unable to shit.
The spoonful

tasted foul,
it clung

to your tongue
like black glue,

brought
your stomach

to your lips;
your eyes to water

and slid
slowly down

your throat
like a slippery snake,

and Mother saying,
like some baying hound,

don't pull such a face,
it'll do you good,

it's not poison you know.
You gave her a smile

and closed your eyes,
wondering if this how

a sick man feels
when he dies.