a sonnet

I have an itch and this itch sure has me.
I'd rather not have this: it burns when I pee.
When I salve my rash, it burns even more.
I won't go on soon - this is worse than before!
I went to the doctor, and what did she say?
Stay clear of sex, or I'm sure you will pay.
Also, she tells, how my itch is so common.
Now, aren't you glad you were born woman?
It's from your asking, your begging, your choosing
to make love with me, now I'm sure I'm losing
my mind from this pill and all its effects -
why can't we stay friends and live without sex?
Sometimes I think of slitting my wrists;
Anything is better than an itch like this.

© 1990 - 2003 Katharina Woodworth