Button — A poem by Jhilmil Breckenridge

Persuaded to try medication,

“very few side effects, no problem,”

the smiling Dr Atul says to my husband.

You are just another possession, a car

to be serviced, a house to maintain.

He proudly leads you home, 10 mg

of this and that, and a brand new wife,

whose buttons can be pressed and chosen

like a favourite television show. Your voice

does not matter, the thickening tongue,

the diminishing libido is minor to him.

Your body is not your own any more,

it’s limbs feel like you are swimming

in treacle, your mind anaesthetised,

your smile pasted. The new, improved

Wife, Model 101 — will last without

complaining. You just have to press the

button.

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