A poem: How do I know you are not ill?

Excuse me?

Say it again?

How do you know I’m not ill?

Why must you?

Oh, because you’re powerful,

Because you are in control?

Because you decide what we

Eat and drink;

How we think and say,

Where we fuck and urinate?

Because if I am ill

You have the power to write me off

Like a bad debt bill?

Ok, I am not ill,

and here is the proof.

I am not ill because I’m feeling ok, great, and super

with my body and soul.

I am not ill because after you didn’t believe me yesterday

I went to see a doctor,

who diagnosed and concluded that

I was not ill.

But that was yesterday.

How do I know you are not ill today still?

He inquired.

So, what do you want me to do now?

You want me to see a doctor today again and

have him say I am not ill still?

I asked.

I don’t care. It’s your business.

It’s your duty to prove you are not ill.

My job is to ask if you are ill.

He shrugged.

So, what do you want me to do now?

I was about to explode.

That’s your problem. I don’t care.

My job is to ask you if you are ill.

He murmured.

I’m not ill because yesterday I did dozens of examinations in the hospital

And nothing indicated I was ill.

Yeah, but how many examinations did you go through?

Have you tried all of them the hospital has to offer?

He sneered.

No, but must I?

I was pissed off.

I don’t care. It’s your business.

My job is to ask if you are ill.

He mumbled.

But I told you

A thousand times -

I’m not ill.

Yeah, you did,

But why should I believe you?

I don’t care how many times you repeated it.

My job is to ask you if you are ill.

He raised his voice.

Yes, for God’s sake, I…

Wait a minute.

What did you say?

Your job is what?

To ASK me if I’m ill?

And you don’t care if I’m ill?

Fuxk you!

-THE END-

*When quackery cannot prove their patients are ill, they would ask the patient to prove they are not.

Of course, the patients cannot prove it — no one can, but if they do try to prove it, it proves they are ill — mentally.